


Don't Read This Like Please

by Kymopoleia



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:22:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Kymopoleia





	1. Chapter 1

Zero Gravity

"That's the kid who tried to kill himself!"

"Wow I heard he was really cool but I guess it was all fake. No cool kid is ever that depressed."

"I hope he kills himself. He failed the first time- what a loser."

"That's Dave Strider."

Dave Strider took a deep breath, and kept walking, his hands in his pockets. He hadn't TRIED to kill himself... There had been a mistake, he'd cut took deep. And it had landed him in the hospital for a week.

He approached the clock-tower where he and his friends usually waited, and was met with a slap to the face by his half sister, Rose.

"You told me you quit! You moronic insufferable-" she cut herself off, slapping his shoulder, bruising it easily. Her girlfriend, Kanaya, dragged the screaming girl off of him, and he just kind of bit his lip, staring for a moment.

One of his other friends, John Egbert, came up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you just tell us, man?" he asked, his face the very epitome of seriousness and concern. 

Dave shrugged his hand off, and turned. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but couldn't find the words. So instead he ran.

Dave didn't stop until he'd reached the back wall of the school, the part where the smokers, juggalos, druggies, and occasional couple occupied. He leaned against a wall near a juggalo with big black hair and purple pajama pants.

He... He needed something to hurt right now. And it was either dig his nails into his palm, or do something really stupid.

He realized that the hospital had filed down his nails- something stupid it was then.

Dave turned to mr. Juggalo with big hair and pj pants, and started to hit on him. Hard. He used all of his strider charm, until he had the guy, Gamzee, wrapping his long arms around Dave, kissing back.

That day, Dave skipped school for the first time in his life, to go with Gamzee to his tiny apartment and fuck. They had a great time, and Dave spent the night with white face paint staining his body.

When he woke up, his first thought was that the man sleeping next to him was completely gorgeous. The second was that he needed to change his bandages. Dave went into the bathroom, and rummaged through the cabinet for something, anything.

He came up with a roll of bandages, and sighed in relief. The blonde began to unwind the used bandages on his right wrist, and then his left. He was so focused, that he missed it when Gamzee came to the doorway.

"Lil motherfucker, what's this?" Gamzee said, waving a long-fingered hand over Dave's wrist.

Dave shook his head, and pulled his wrist closer to himself. He didn't want this new guy, who was shaping up to be great already, to know.

Gamzee sighed and ruffled his hair. "Alright, I won't ask now." he said, grabbing the toothbrush.

A few minutes passed before either of them said anything.

"Is that my shirt?" 

Dave looked down at the black shirt, and nodded. "Sorry, but my shirt was stained... Do you like it?"

Gamzee nodded, and tugged at the hem of the shirt, before sliding his hand up the shirt, and then kissing Dave on the lips.

Dave moaned, and leaned back against the counter, not sure of where this was going.

Gamzee kissed down his neck, and got on his knees before the blonde. Dave just stared at him and slipped his hands into Gamzee's unruly black hair.

Said unruly haired teen palmed Dave's crotch with one hand, and hen kissed the treasure trail above it. Then he moved his hand away- Dave let out a low whine at the loss of contact- to catch the waistband of Dave's boxers I between his teeth, and tug them down.

The blonde gasped and leaned his head back, groaning just a bit. As Gamzee planted a trail of kisses down his 

-

The misadventures of Underage Tree Farm

UTF is a band that Dirk Strider, his cousin Dave, his friend Roxy and her friends Jane and Jade started. these are their adventures- well, misadventures. 

1-Broken Heart Moniter

Dirk Strider grinned as he set his guitar aside and scribbled down a few more lyrics and chords, already planning the song that would 

-

I have to do WHAT mr. Wright???

Being a teacher at Beverly Heights High wasn't as easy as his teachers had made it seem when Spencer was growing up. The kind set of teachers who had worked him through his problems- both in and out of school- had all been replaced as they retired, except for one or two. The new teachers could get aggressive with the students, but that was it. They didn't always do everything they could, and spencer couldn't blame them. 

Sometimes the students were absolute brats. They did nothing to get where they were, and took the money and expense of their learning for granted.

Well, most of them did...

The scene is Spencer's TV production class, and he is propped up against his desk, looking over his students and them looking back at him.

It's the first day of school, and, unbeknownst to this crop of kids, Spencer's first day of teaching.

"TV production is the starting point for many great directors, but even more start way before this class." He'd practiced the speech a hundred times before, but now the stakes were highest. One mistake and he'd be the laughing stock of these kids for the entire year...

But when he finished the speech, all he saw was smiling faces, and the only thing he 

-

Becoming Homestuck

So a girl meets another girl, and discovers that they go to the same school and are perfect for each other! One problem? She's a fandom blogger, and her girlfriend is homestuck. She begins to read homestuck, and finds out what its all about! But then she decides that her friends will love her, karkat horns or not. After being shunned by her friends, she's accepted with the homestucks.

 

Kara Kane was standing in an empty Starbucks at midnight on a Saturday, knowing that she wouldn't really have to do anything for a while, because she worked there and no one ever came this late, unless it was around exam times.

Her hair was cropped close to her head in a black boy cut, and her jeans were tight and faded from use. Her shirt was a work one, with the all-too familiar logo printed neatly on it. Wrapped around her thin, pale wrists were a few braided 

-

Potential? (miracle-Paramore)  
PLOT  
Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones has more secrets under his sleeve than any 13 year old boy he knows. At school, he's just barely getting by, and the taunts that are thrown his way are beginning to get to him. At home, he doesn't even know the woman who birthed him- she cleared out of the house just days before he turned 2. His dad, Arthur has to get by as well... As a personal escort, or, as most would rather call him, a whore. Will anything change when a new customer has the potential to become oh so much more?

/AN: Hey, I'm back, with a new story! I know I haven't been updating much, and that this story here will have many, many typos... But see it through? I rather like the idea, you know. A FrUK story from Alfred's, and maybe even Matthew's perspective.\

Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones kicked a pinecone as he walked, and tried not to think about... Well, anything really. He'd just come from a silent house, due to his father having a tough time last night. The man had been big and muscular and loud... Even Alfred had had trouble getting to sleep after that.  
And then there was the whole issue of school... Yesterday, he'd been told by a couple of giggling girls that 

-

 

Your name is Dave Strider and at this moment, a fist is approaching your face, and you're too drunken to move. The fist slams straight into your nose, sending you reeling back, blood flowing freely from the assaulted area.  
You smirk and turn back to the small, angry teen before you, the one with quickly bruised knuckles- the perfect match for his similarly bruised lips, "That's all you got?" you taunt, knowing damn well that little Karkat could take anything you threw at him, and use it against you.  
"Stupid cocky motherfucking fuckass!" he growled, staring at you from a few steps back. You nod, and lean forward to hook your arm around Karkat's lean waist, pulling him close.  
"I'm YOUR stupid cocky motherfucking fuckass." you breathe the words into your lover's ear, before repurposing your lips, and tugging at the earlobe under the mop of messy, gently curling ginger hair.  
Karkat's breath hitched, and his fingers curled into the foft fabric of your red and white shirt. "Dave." he whispered.  
"Dave wake up."

Your name is Dave Strider, and that was all just a dream. You sit up in bed, to find two unpleasant surprises.  
The first is the note fluttering down from your face. It is, undeniably, from Bro.  
The second is your half-hard on from the dream. It isn't fully formed, but it's not likely to go away soon either. You take a sigh, and slide your hand down into the waistband of your boxers.  
You think for a minute, remembering your dream as you wrap your hands around your-  
"Dave, stop jacking off and get ready for school!" you hear from the hallway. You groan in frustration, and check the clock. You have enough time for a shower.  
When you finish in the shower and pull on your clothes, you have ten minutes left. There's nothing to eat in your apartment, so you retreat to your room to dick around for a few minutes before leaving for school.

-

Just Like You

(war story)

Dave Strider frowned to himself, looking out across the ashen battlefield. This was his playground, and the soldiers were his pawns, but it just... It didn't feel right anymore. When did his quest, the will of the Heir, stop being the most important thing in his life? When had things gone from perfect to... Wanting?

Karkat Vantas was in his bed, sleeping fitfully when the aide sirens went off. He didn't want to move, but he knew that he'd have to. So, Karkat got down on the floor if his small apartment, under the table. He curled up there, with his blanket, and tried to sleep again. But, Alas, fate was not on his side.  
At that moment, a warring general walked into his apartment, an entourage of yellow-coats fanning out around him. "Civilian. Get a small bag for over night things, you're coming with us." The general said, with a lisp.

-

Jem was walking through the front hall of the institute when Will burst through the doors leading to the outside. He looked around frantically before his eyes landed on Jem and he began to quickly stride over to where the silver haired boy was standing. "Will wha-" Jem managed to get out before Will grabbed him and pulled him into a searing kiss. The kiss lasted for a few moments before Jem managed to pull away from Will. "What was that?!" he exclaimed. Will blinked. "A kiss obviously. Why, did you not like it?" Jem was lost for words for a second "what possessed you to do that?" "Magnus said you would like it, besides I've been wanting to do that for the longest time."Will said whilst smiling sheepishly down at Jem. Jem did not want to admit it but he had been wanting Will to do what he had just done for years now. "Well," he said "I cannot say it was unpleasant." Will beamed and leaned in to kiss and frowned when Jem leaned back so his lips only met empty air. Jem gave Will an apologetic look."I'm sorry William, I do like out but it can never be. We are parabati, not to mention men, it is forbidden." Jem tried to be gentle as to not severely hurt his parabati's feelings. 

 

-

-Ashes and Dust-

Sitting here, stuck on this meteor,  
Nothing feels quite right anymore.

So many if our friends kicked the bucket,  
Made an appearance only when necessary,  
And even then only for a short while.

Wasting away in these well worn chairs,  
A disgrace to the ones who are still expecting something great.

Ashes smear our cheeks,  
and dust covers the things we thought were important.

Was 

-

Sherlock and the Three Detectives

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was the prettiest boy in all the lands. His hair was dark and always tousled; his eyes were captivating and piercing and magnificant. His lips were soft and pale, and his cheekbones were high and perfect in every way.

Sherlock lived with his older brother Mycroft, and his brother-in-law Moriarty. Mycroft was good to his younger sibling, even though they still loved to fight. Moriarty, on the other hand, had never been very nice to Sherlock. He was Sherlock's absolute opposite, and had played many mean jokes on the princess! But they continued their delicate balance of a life together, running the kingdom and joking with each other.

Sherlock was to be married soon, but he didn't want to be. He always claimed to be married to his work, as the worlds only consulting detective. Sherlock spent his free time investigating crimes and murders, and found that it never quite got dull. After a time, he was renowned far and wide for his skills, with people coming from all over the lands to have their hearts quieted!

Moriarty was the worlds only consulting criminal, a position which put the family in a tense moment at the dinners after a particularly testing crime.

Despite everything, they all lived together and smiled together.

One day, Moriarty gathered his cape- which he'd insisted on wearing around the castle at all times, despite his husbands protest- and went down a spiral set of stairs, to his favorite rooms. The dungeons. He and Mycroft had met there, Once upon a time, and had been together ever since. So, making his way to his work chambers, he took a minute to consider what he would ask.

-

Birthdays  
It had been a long time since Dave Strider got on his knees for anyone, especially someone he admired.

So, here, kneeling in front of renowned author Rose Lalonde,

-

Maybe the frog curtains aren't THAT bad...?

Two fire trucks, three emergency hospital vans, seven police cars, and a third of a SWAT team.

That's what it took to get Dave Elizabeth Strider from jumping off the roof of his tenth grade chemistry building.

Two psychoanalysis's later, he was being told to pack a bag- he was going to the mental asylum.

Now Dave stands in his room, eyes red from crying, hidden by his shades, and heart beating too fast in his throat.

How was he even supposed to pack a bag for this? He'd been told a few things, such as "the no jeans rule", along with "the no metal rule", and "the no electronics" rule.

He chose a messenger bag, a red one with the symbol of a scratched CD on it. It was fairly sized, and had enough pocket room to last a lifetime.

The first thing Dave packed was clothing. In went hoodies, t-shirts, and a couple pairs of comfy sweat pants.

A heartbeat later, Dave slipped some pairs of boxers in, and a small bag with his toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss inside of the bag.

These was one allowance to "the no electronics rule", and that was music-playing devices. That meant his iPod touch was being unloaded of games and filled with his favorite songs and mixes, and safely stowed inside a pocket. Alongside it were three pairs of headphones and two chargers.

Now for any "comfort" items. Dave chose a fleece blanket and a rainbow "decorative" pillow that he couldn't sleep without.

His bag was almost full, but there were still a few things he wanted to add. Dave grabbed two composition notebooks (empty), and a handful of mechanical pencils.

And last, but certainly not least, was a picture. It was well-worn, but that was okay, given how many times it had been folded and refolded, crumpled up and nearly torn. It was of himself, his older brother, mother, and father- before the divorce, before he had really been able to understand what was going on. The faces of his mother and father were worn out, and the only distinguishable thing on his brothers face were a pair of brilliant, orange eyes that still gleamed, despite the photo's age. In his brother's hands were a pair of pointy sunglasses, which he had found an identical pair of when he was six and rarely took off until his online friend sent him a new pair.

And now he was done. Dave felt his eyes prickle, but tears just wouldn't come. This was all he was going to have, for a while. As a last moment decision, he shoved a pair of silky basketball shorts in too, and oh, how could he have forgotten socks?

Dave knew that he was just stalling for time, which he didn't have. His dad was knocking impatiently on his door because, guess who was at their apartment door, just waiting to escort him to the loony bin?

The blonde's breath hitched at each bang against his door, and swept his gaze across his room, one last time. Then he picked up his bag, and left the room to go meet the unlucky bastard who had the job of escorting him to the asylum.

Chapter2

The car ride was very silent, and very boring, so Dave decided to listen to some music. The orderly, Dave had learned his position while the man was doing a loose check of his bag, was quiet and didn't like talking to people, and he especially didn't like his job. He had informed Dave of this right after they'd left the apartment complex. So, here Dave was, listening to some Fort Minor in the back of the van that was taking him to a place called "The Veil Asylum".

What even was up with the name of the place? It was strange... But he didn't dwell on the subject for long.

'High Road' had just come on when the orderly pulled into a driveway, a long one that led to a tall gray building.

"We're here, kid." The orderly said, getting out of his seat, to go open Dave's door. Dave got out of the car, clutching the strap of his messenger bag nervously, and his stomach squirming very, vërÿ uncomfortably.

They got into the lobby of the building, and the orderly checked him in. His bag went through a more thorough check, but he'd followed the rules, so nothing was removed.

Then he was told to fill out an information sheet; one with mostly normal questions on it. But then, when he reached the bottom of the sheet, he saw a few questions; such as "favorite color?", "favorite drink?", and "main interests?". Wierd.

Now Dave was being given back his bag and a new orderly kindly asking him to come with her, as she was going to escort him to his room. As they walked, it was silent again, as she only talked to tell him which important rooms were which. After a while, they stopped, and she used her keys to open a door. A moment later, he was in the room and she was locking the door behind him, with no explanations. He didn't need any.

Flicking the light on, Dave studied his surroundings. The room wasn't huge, but it was no cupboard under the stairs either. There was a twin bed with one pillow and white sheets to the left of the door, and a second door just beyond the foot of the bed. On the right side of the room was a desk, a chair, and a dresser. It was well furnished for a small mental patient room.

Setting his bag down on the bed, Dave decided to look into the door first, and then unpack his things.he crossed the room easily, then rested his hand on the doorknob, testing it to see if it was unlocked. It was. Pulling it open and flicking on the light , he saw that it was a bathroom with-

What. The. Fuck. Were those... Frog curtains? Talk about horrible taste. Bluh. Seriously, what the hell was up with that? Everything else was tolerable, and then THIS. God fucking damn.

-

 

Msparp.com/chat/59cc0466cbc647fbb2da547d74386ac7

Out of space  
Fat lip  
Please mr postman  
Boulevard of broken dreams  
Highway55  
Collide (Erin renee)  
To the end (rnr Cheryl remix)  
Twisted transistor  
California love  
Gangster tripping  
Missfit  
Make her say  
Daybreaker  
\--Revolving door--

Every time you go- Ellie Golding  
Body electric- Lana del ray  
Spiderwebs- no doubt   
Are you satisfied- Marina and the Diamonds  
Everyone is at it-Lily Allen  
And the world was gone  
Dance apocalyptic-Janelle monae  
I know this- Rachel can

SHxJM  
-riddles  
-crown  
-i OWE you a fall  
-Richard Brooke  
-Mycroft doesn't approve  
-

 

Wonk

Napalm- 50% orange juice 50% gasoline

Ammonia obscures blood so you can't test for it

Bury a body several feet under a dog to create a false positive

Bury bodies vertically, police look for horizontal holes

Boil bones and teeth in acid to dissolve them, then the sludge is safe for dumping!

Be careful with the smell, as it could tip off neighbors.

Interesting way to murder someone!  
-dress as mime  
-begin to blow up balloon animals with a pump, but also make sure that there is powdered glass inside  
-pop the balloon in their face  
-dispatch them!

Hemlock is a very deadly herb, and all parts of the plant are deadly. A useful way to poison someone may be a salad of hemlock leaves, or, flesh of a bird who had eaten it- some fowl are immune to the toxins.

Mistletoe, the white berry, is poisonous as well. Serve up a bowl of blueberries and mistletoe with milk and sugar.

Bleach in strong tea? Maybe!

Arsenic is notorious, as is sulfur, for it's deadly nature. A little bit of powder will be more than enough!

Capricious- unpredictable  
Cancerous- spreading of evil  
Move if you wanna  
Light bike battle  
Dream On

"When it's raining outside and the sun is shining, the devil is beating his wife."

17 crimes AFI

scrupulousErudite  
=  
careful Scholar  
Kankri's trollian handle!!!

Prompt: Meenah taking care of grub feferi

 

Names

Rita  
Antonella  
Carol  
Effie  
Audry  
Ethel  
Damron  
Basil  
Rosalia  
Lyndon  
Nettie  
Cora  
Della  
Ivy  
Toby  
Cecelia  
Ruth  
Jasper  
Marietta

 

Trickster me  
Lollipop hammer  
Now and laters

 

Heading for the disco horror pops

 

Chucklefuck  
Fucksponge  
Nookchafing   
Fur burger  
Please hide your face before I vomit  
You have the brain of a cheese sandwich   
If you were twice as clever, you would still be stupid.   
Your mother suckles pigs   
Your penis is do small that is you fucked a mouse it wouldn't notice  
Please stop talking loudly in that annoying language  
Honestly officer, his face was like that when I met him  
Douchefuck  
Cushionass

 

"give god what's right, not what's left"  
Tonight tonight  
Rainbow liquors  
Goat eyes   
Goat milking

Misguided ghosts- paramore  
Big yellow taxi- Joanie Mitchells

Alternian faygo contains troll blood 

Freedom of preach

Runaway Baby- Bruno Mars

QUOTE OF DA DAY

"This country isn't a monarchy William, trust me I've tried." -Sue

 

FRENCH

Je veux vas te faire encule si dur dans le cul que vous ne pouvez pas marcher pendant une semain, puis permettez-moi de vous transporter partout, parce que je t'aime.  
I want to fuck you so hard in the ass that you can't walk for a week and then allow me to carry you everywhere, because I love you.

Bring me to life evanescence

JUST LIKE YOU 3 days grace

 

I found these notes in the bathroom:

Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all of the kindness, care, and understanding you can muster. Do it without any thought of reward.  
\- peace, across

Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end.  
-Ed sheeran

 

Your name is Jade Harley, and you are in your favorite juggalo's car, his tongue down your throat and your hands wound tight around his neck.  
His name is Gamzee, and he's perfect, in his own way. As a stoner, faygo-loving juggalo, and sexy upperclassmen... Jade had no questions in her mind when it came to why she'd asked him out. The only question really, was why he'd said yes.  
She was well known for her "psychic" powers- she didn't have any! He just saw stuff in dreams- and wasn't really a class favorite, like her friends Rose, John, and Dave.  
But them, she'd decided to ask her crush out... And he'd said yes.

 

Dave cross dressing cosplay plan

Fabric item numbers (via Walmart)  
Soft black: 550215460  
Silky indigo: 1916263  
Gauze-y red: 

Possible pattern item numbers:  
Dress 1: A6211 dress B  
Dress 2: A6020 dress A, C, D top style E  
Dress 3: A6699 dress ANY

Ribbon:

 

Outta my head a ya ya  
Prompt: Roxy's b-day, Shibari-style orange rope, Dirk, vibrators, sitting on his lap

 

Plot for HOC

-enter stage left  
-Payton and the spades king get cozy  
-find out about the hearts castle bein evil  
-joker is called to red castle again, and forced to do horrible things (not shown)   
-war declaration  
-white witch and black witch are called to serve the kingdoms   
-spades queen accuses king of doing this for romantic reasons, she responds with "This war was never about love, it's been building up for much longer than that.  
-  
-big fight scene, lots of detail and character death  
-  
-the red king kills herself  
-battle ends, everyone mourns

Have you ever had a moment where you just *knew*? You saw a person, and you instinctively knew?

The first time I saw Steve Carlsburg, I knew. I knew he was an asshole. But he was a sweetheart too- I was enamored with him. He was a transfer student from my brother's school over in desert bluffs, and the instant I saw him, I knew.

But I went against my better- or possibly worse- judgement, and smiled at him when he came into class.

He grinned wide and collapsed in the seat next to me, a meat cleaver hanging haphazardly from his unzipped backpack. It almost got me, but I moved politely out of the way.

"I didn't know you switched schools too, Kevin." He sighed happily, turning a beaming face to me. I was so stunned I just nodded, smiling softly, and said "Uh-huh"

Now, I don't normally condone lying, or pretending to be your twin brother, or meat cleavers, but his smile was utterly disarming. No, literally, I dropped the handgun I was cleaning from shock at his mouthful of pearly whites.

Maybe it's because me and Kevin inherited our father's smile- not that we ever met the man, big momma, our godmother, told us that- but something about the way a mouth full of shiny, white, straight teeth have always made me shiver.

I was still dumbstruck as he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. What the hell had happened between this guy and my brother, and why wasn't I aware of it? Oh my gods.

Class started soon enough, but I could hardly concentrate on the screams of the man our teacher was dissecting, instead glancing at Steve from the corner of my eye. He kept sneaking little glances too, and I could hardly believe it when his arm slung itself over the back of my chair- who knew a desert bluffs varsity jacket could be so warm against the back of one's neck?

That day my notes were filled with doodles of his mouth, his gorgeous brown eyes, and his dark halo of curly brown hair.

When I got home, I fought to keep e excitement from my voice and actions. I saw Big Momma glance my way a few times, but she never said anything.

Kevin got home not long after I did, and we worked on homework quietly while the one space record scratched on behind us.

That night felt borderline illegal, with how giddy and guilty I felt. After all, Steve thought I was Kevin. Awkward.

-

Blurred Indigo Lines

His fingers are cold against my thighs, and his stare is disconcerting at best. My throat aches, and the bandages around my neck are bloodstained.  
He, Kurloz, is nestled between my stripped thighs, his face so close to mine that I feel his breath on my lips. I don't want this. I don't want him.

The scene changes to the next morning, and I am here, naked in the mute highblood's bed. I would escape if I could, but no one would be clever enough to get out of this, with his arm wrapped around my waist and his face, now void of face paint, nuzzled into my shoulder. Last night he was still wearing it when he... Went down on me, getting the strange white substance everywhere on my body.  
But going down is not all he did- I was also fucked so hard that I bled, more accusing candy red spilling down my thighs.  
Looking back now, I wish I could say that I'd been clever, did something, anything to get the bastard off of me. But I didn't. I just screamed and couldn't help but moan when his hips rocked against mine, his tentabulge pressing right against that one spot.

It has been a month or so since I was captured, but it never seems to end. He'll leave each morning to go cull some more trolls, he'll come home each night to find me in his room, tear stained cheeks and ass bare. I hate the way it feels when he touches me, because it feels so wonderful.   
Once he paraded me around the castle grounds, with vibrators up my nook and my bulge coiling, oozing cherry red liquid down my bruised thighs. It was horrible. I hated the way everyone looked at me, especially )(IC and Dirk. Dirk was on our side, to an extent. )(IC just asked Kurloz if she'd be allowed to fuck me while I was still feisty.  
Kurloz responded by giving me to he'd and leaving for a couple hours.  
I hated this.

Now it's been three months. It is so hard... I can't keep fighting against him. I'm weak. I'm tired. I feel used and worn and like there isn't a chance in the world for me to escape. Maybe I should just stop trying, accept the troll who ravishes me.

Kurloz has taken up the habit of sewing my lips up tight, then fucking me so hard they break. Sometimes he fucks me in the mouth to cause this, but mostly it's when he has something up my ass, large and foreign and vibrating roughly, and his huge bulge is also tearing into my nook. He loves making me scream and come undone. Truth be told? I'm beginning to enjoy it too. 

-

Black Lights

The lights of the abandoned warehouse don't work, and you know they haven't worked in a long time. So you coil glow stick necklaces around your neck and the shorter ones around your wrist. You add another glow stick every time you do something your older brother wouldn't be proud of.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you are just dying to be noticed. To be yelled at, to have punishments given and rude   
things yelled. You apart of a generation that has too much responsibility thrust upon them after being treated like 3 year olds for ten, fifteen fucking years. You're 

-

Breaking the Tension  
1\. The way he glares is just too cute

The vegan folded the clean shirt, one of many others, and hummed a song as he worked. He heard a knock on his apartment door, and got up- wondering who it could be. He hadn't invited anyone over, had he? No, he was damn sure he hadn't. He opened the door, and his mouth immediately turned downwards into a scowl. "Oh. It's you."

The meat-eater grinned and leaned forwards to pat his cheek. "Don't sound so disappointed, now!" he chuckled, and began to walk into the house, despite his obvious lack of invitation. "Have you thought of my offer?" he asked, turning his brown eyes onto the other.

The vegan scowled. "I could never kiss someone on the mouth who possibly just had little bits of corpse in it." He shuddered- disgusted by the mere idea.

The meat-eater advanced on the smaller man, and tilted his chin up with one finger. "Tsundere. I like that." he said, winking. "Well, I'll be around... Until next time, my little herbivore." he said, leaning forwards to nip the others ear, then pull away and exit the premises.

The vegan, Damien, waited until he heard the door close to sink to his knees and let out a choked burst of laughter- Oh, how he wanted that omnivore, Zack. Oh, how he wanted to give in... But he'd be damned if he let even the ghost of a taste of a living creature tempt his tongue.

He wouldn't let himself jump onto the disgusting bandwagon... Not even if it had that delicious brunette on it. He shook his copper hair out of his glasses, and gave a breathy sigh. Until next time Zack, until next time.

 

Breaking the Tension  
2: Cut it out Zack- there are children here!

Damien pulled on a green hoodie and grabbed his wallet- it had been three days since the 'incident' with Zack. Three days of intense worry and concentration. But, luckily, Zack   
was not known for his patience- Maybe he was backing off for good? Maybe he finally got the message that Damien wasn't interested? Whatever the case, the vegan was just glad that, for once, his senses weren't being assaulted with the gorgeous scent of Zack's cologne... He hadn't been sure he'd be able to have kept this up for this long as it was.

When he reached the store, he was so distracted that he nearly bought a whole chicken, a gallon of regular milk, and a container of extra dairy creamer. He didn't even use creamer. By the time Damien had finished shopping, he was thoroughly aggravated with himself- Why was he acting this way? Why couldn't he get a grip on himself?

He was in the grain aisle when he saw him. Zack. Damien gulped and grabbed a box of pasta noodles, trying to ignore the tension between them.

Through the hub of the store, Damien heard footsteps clearly walking to him- closer and closer until they stopped, right behind him.

A strong arm slinks around his waist, and he yelps, dropping the cardboard box. "Z-zack! What the hell do you think you're doing??" he said, scrambling to get out of the omnivore's grip. Zack chuckled and blew on his neck lightly, before biting the tender flesh there.

Damien yelped lightly and felt his knees go weak. "I take it you enjoyed that? If you accepted my offer... I could do this to you all the time." Damien shook his head lightly, and then almost fell when the supporting arm around his waist disappeared.

"Don't fall now~" Zack cooed, putting his strong arm back in place. "Oh shut up!" Damien snapped, trying to pull the aforementioned hand off of himself. Zack chuckled again and bent his head to attack the others neck. A second bruise was quickly formed, due to his expertise in the area. The vegan had soon given up struggling, and was merely moaning softly and allowing the omnivore to fully support his weight.

"Now, now, little vegan. Why don't you just announce to the store, that you have a 'problem'- and that you're unquestionably and irrevocably in love with me."

"Zach shut the f-fuck up." he grumbled, swatting at the meat-eater's hands. "Now, j-just fuckin let me go."

Zach tsk'ed, and set his chin on Damien's hair. "Damien, dear, there are children here!"

"Then Stop fucking harrassing me!"

-

Cannibal (I wanna)

I wanna hear the songs that rage through ya head  
I wanna taste ya skin as ya scream  
I wanna touch you all over babe  
I wanna   
I wanna  
I wanna eat you alive

I wanna know the words that you will say  
When you're tied down pleading  
For your life ba-abe  
I wanna see you sweat out the pain  
I wanna see the fear in ya eyes when it won't go a-way  
I wanna know just the way you scream  
When I make your insides come out  
Oh darling

I'm a cannibal  
Honey darling dear  
And you won't get out of this one  
So while we're he-ere  
I wanna  
I wanna  
I wanna know everything.

I wanna know how your insides ta-aste  
Do you think I can do that?  
I wanna kiss your fa-ace  
With my hands deep inside you  
I wanna let you know how much I care  
For the time we're he-ere  
I wanna see the quiver in your lips ba-abe  
I want you to know there's no hope  
No, no, darling

I'm a cannibal  
Honey darling dear  
And you won't get out of this one  
So while we're he-ere  
I wanna  
I wanna  
I wanna know everything.

Did you know your heart is a little too much to the left?  
I think made it move there  
Did you know I just love your scre-eam  
But now you're dead  
Why did I do that  
Now we're done playing  
I'm sorry  
I'm sorry  
I'm sorry honey

-

New Perspective-Panic at the disco  
Story idea: Dave with different partners

There's a good reason these tables are numbered honey, you just haven't figured out why yet-Panic at the disco  
Dave to Terezi

How to be a heartbreaker-Marina and the diamonds  
Damara maybe?

Double yellow lines-Sirah  
Stridercest

Last night-good Charlotte  
Dirk to Jane, maybe Roxy

It's all over-three days grace  
Strilondes fuck a lot, orgy, pet play

-

Parallels  
The sky is a dark, monotonous, rolling gray. I hate Washington so much sometimes.

School was boring, like usual. Same old bull from the same old bats. I did get one interesting thing though, a "how to read literature like a professor" book for my twin, Rose. She loves writing almost as much as psychoanalyzing- and that's saying something, because if I had a dime for every time she psychoanalyzed me, i'd have enough money to buy a new set of turntables.

We moved up here to Washington because her mom and my bro-I guess you could call him my dad but I prefer to not do that-had a chance to work in either France, Canada, or Washington. We had a couple friends in Washington, so we begged them to pick there.

And they did. And we basked in the presence of John Egbert and Jade Harley, who moved to be with her brother the year before from Hawaii.

And it was great, aside from the fact that kids at school hated us. Hated our intellect. Thought we were lame- no difference from Houston, except now my nearest and dearest knew about the shit at school. And the weather here- ugh, talk about hell. Our house is creaky and old and my room is perpetually freezing and Rose- I love her, but I really cannot stand her therapist bullshit 24/7.

But, of course, I'm not going to whine to anybody. I never do, unless John asks. And John...

Things between us aren't good. Haven't been for a while. When we were thirteen, I had a crush on his sister. I asked her out, she said no. When I was fourteen, I had a crush on John. I never asked, and he got a girlfriend. Some vicious bitch who is obsessed with luck and roleplaying and kissing. How could I ever compete?

But I got over it. I said fuck it, closed myself off for a while to romance. But then, of course, shit happened. I dated this girl, and man, did that relationship fuck me up. I stole, I lied, I did whatever she asked. And she did whatever her other boyfriend asked. It was a weird thing between us and, to be honest, the only things I really remember about him were the things that happened in the bedroom. And, of course, the person I cried to was John. But he soon began to spend all his time with his girlfriend, ignoring me. Leaving me out. It seemed like Rose and Jade saw him all the time, I only saw him when I went home with him to see him or his neighbor, this home schooled kid named Karkat.

And there is nothing wrong with Karkles. He's sweet, in a spiky porcupine way. 

-

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are seriously hoping that last night was a dream.

But you have a pain in your crotch, bruises all over, and a not-so-slight limp. Fuck. You were really hoping, for a variety of reasons, that that had just been a wet dream gone wrong, rather than... What it, um, was.

Sitting up gives you all kinds of a hella headache. It takes you a long time to get up and walk to the bathroom, and even longer to check the clock. When you do so, you are shocked to see it is three in the afternoon- the only time your father ever let you sleep this late was when your grandfather died and you were mourning.

-

Innocent little soldier

Looking down at your brother, naked and sprawled ass-up on the covers, you can't help but feel like a dirty pervert. But the you remember that he is twenty-three, and therefore old enough for the cock he wants you to shove up his ass. And you also remember that this little motherfucker is in the army, and has been since the day he graduated high school. It hurt you them that he was do eager to leave, but now you just feel a sense of pride and a perpetual sense of aching worry.

Dave Strider turns his head around, red eyes smoldering in the low light of the room. You love the fact that he took off his shades, it might unnerve you to see him wearing them THAT much.

"Are you going to fucking put that in, old man?" You shudder at the nickname, and lean forwards so that the head of your cock rests at his his entrance. His glare is broken by the delicious shudder that ripples through him, and his head turns forward, to the pillows.

You grip his hips with lightly, and you can tell that he likes the rough feel of leather on skin from your gloves by the way another shudder goes through him. The pace you set for entering is painstakingly slow, and you would love nothing more than to slam your hips against his ass and rut yourself to completion, but you refrain from doing so in favor of infuriating your nearest and dearest.

His little gasps and whimpers make you grin. You can't see much in the dark yet, but you can hear the rustling of the covers as he tightens his fists in them, preparing himself for the inevitability that your dick, in it's 8 inch entirety, will be buried, balls-deep, in the hole where he hasn't had a dick in almost two years.

You stop halfway through and pull all the way out, loving the disappointed whimper that action elicits. Then you, with absolutely no warning, snap your hips forward, your dick going all the way in.

The low, husky moan that is dragged out of you is dwarfed by the broken scream you get, and the way he pushes his ass back as well has a breathy, second moan coming out.

You repeat that action, and get a similar response. The third time you pull out, however, you take a second to breathlessly rub your head against the cleft of his ass, breath hitching at every other fold of that puckered hole. You can hear his breath hitching too, and you two are synchronized when you push in, the moans coming out are the same in every way except for the throat that produced them- and even then, those are pretty alike.

-

Apps I require  
Tuber  
Text now  
Skype  
Pandora  
Crunchyroll

-

Dog days are over-Florence and the machine  
Bad boys-hyper crush  
Bad moon rising-clearance water festival  
Ball-T.I.  
Two way street-Kimbra  
Urban contact aurora  
Singularity-breathe  
Make Happy-Kate Nash  
I'm not calling you a liar-Florence and the machines  
Blue jeans-Lana del ray  
I need your love-Ellie goulding  
Lily Allen the fear  
Undercover martyn  
Your biggest mistake-Ellis goulding  
Heads will roll-yeah yeah yeahs  
Love club-lorde  
When your heart stops beating  
The bitch song  
I just wanna live  
Ain't no rest for the wicked  
Your song Ellie goulding  
Last night-good Charlotte  
Somebody told me-The killers  
The river-good Charlotte  
America's suitehearts-fall out boy  
I just wanna run- the downtown fiction  
The sharpest lives-my chem  
Lying from you-Linkin park  
Chalk outline-three days grace  
Say I yi yi yi  
Sweep blue foundation  
As I moved on  
End if the day  
Megadef-styles of beyond FULL ALBUM  
Indigo flow-limp bizkit  
I like that  
Lose yourself-Eminem  
Role Model-Eminem  
Deathclub  
Take it out on me-Mitis  
Dubstep night ore-strobelights  
I love college Asher Roth  
Bast of COD modern warfare dubstep  
The rising tied album  
Mister chicken  
Discord  
Begging on your knees MEP (homestuck)  
Holiday-green day  
Blueberry yum yum  
The potion-Ludacris  
Someone else's-Borgore  
Radioactive-imagine dragons  
S&M-Rihanna  
All of my love-led zeppelin  
Sail-awolnation  
Locked out of heaven-Bruno mars  
Go all night long-ACDC


	2. Chapter 2

Stuff 

Á la Mode

-

It's January 16th and it's much too cold. Mostly Eridan smokes to warm himself up; he's perpetually cold, see, and the smoke is always burning-lava hot. Technically he shouldn't smoke at all in case his asthma acts up again, but he hasn't needed his inhaler since way before The Night That Everything Changed. 

This is how he thinks of things; before and after. The Night That Everything Changed is the night his mother died, on November 22nd, 1949. Cronus had gotten back in the spring, and their family was whole again, but in November the leaves started falling and then one day so did Mom, and it was 11:00 pm, and everything changed. 

Smoking. Right, okay. Eridan can smoke on account of how he assumes he's outgrown the asthma. 

"Yeah, well, Vriska doesn't know nothin' about /nothin'/, and just because she says it's true sure don't mean it is." He exhales and it's like the accusation is being exhaled right along with the tobacco smoke. It's one problem among many; he gets accused /so much/, and maybe they have a point. Why /doesn't/ he court any girls? Why /won't/ he go to prom? Why, why, why?

Prom ain't for people like him, that's why. He's too damn cool. And his friends laugh and agree. It isn't like they thought he was actually nancy. What a ridiculous notion. 

Soon it's half-past six and he says oh shit, I've gotta get home, I've got important shit to do, which is actually true and not an excuse for anything. They say whatever, and Eridan doesn't really listen to them anyway so it's okay.

He opens the door too loudly and runs upstairs with his boots still on, sure to disturb his dad were he sober or awake, which in all likeliehood he is not. 

"Shit!"

He shakes Cronus awake.

-

Cronus has tears streaming down his face and is shaking in silent terror, a clear contrast to his waking self, who is as cool as all of his younger brother's friends strive to be. The shaking jostles him from the memory of an Italian shoulder spitting curses at him while holding him at gunpoint, and he sees Eridan in the dim late-evening light. He grabs Eridan, holding him close and spewing apologies.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to fall asleep yet I swear, today was just long and the bed was soft and I couldn't wait till you got home I'm fuckin sorry Eri, I am"

-

"Shit, calm down, I'm sorry I was late. The guys - they were talkin', they were talkin' shit, and I'm sorry I was late okay? It's okay, I'm here, shit. Can I get you somethin'? Anything?"

His voice is pleading and desperate. 

"I'm sorry. I should have been watching."

-

"Just shut up and hold me Eri that's what I need- Wait have you had dinner yet? I need to make us all something... Yeah, that's what I need. I can wait, I need to feed you an dad."

Nodding, Cronus scooted over to the edge of the bed and stood shakily.

-

"Dad's sleepin', don't wake him. I already ate at work, 's fine, you ain't gotta feed us. Lay back down." 

He bends down to unlace his boots. He hangs up his jacket. He could take off his jeans and it wouldn't be all that big of a deal, but he's cold.

-

Cronus swallows.

"Oh. I'll go down and grab m'self something though, I haven't had a chance. Antoine had me working double today, right through lunch, so I'll be back in just a moment."

He shuffles out of the room, and it's nearly impossible to hear him rifling through the cabinets downstairs for food. When he comes back up, he has a sandwich which is halfway eaten, a third of a bag of carrots, and a glass of milk. Offering Eridan a small smile, he sets the hoard down on the bedside table before tugging off his work clothes, which he hadn't done earlier. He puts old pajama pants and a ratty t-shirt on, and they drape over his thin frame nicely. Sitting back down next to his brother, Cronus finds himself leaning against Eridan as he eats.

-

He's fine in jeans and a t-shirt. Fine fine fine. Everything is fine. 

He leans back against the headboard and Cronus leans back against him. They're both skinny fuckers, really, neither all that useful in the way of body heat, but it's better than nothing. Eridan looks up twice to make sure the door is closed. It is.

"Sounds like work was awful. 'M sorry."

-

"S not your fault, Antoine is a vicious fucker. Word to the wise? Never work for him. Or Arthur Miller. Or really any factory ever, that's the best idea. Don't do it."

A yawn escapes Cronus, and he stretches, back arching away from the chilly wood. 

"Dad didn't leave the house today, did he?"

-

"I probably will, when I graduate. If I graduate." 

Eridan looks away.

"No. I mean, I don't reckon so. Maybe he did. I couldn't say."

-

Cronus wraps an arm around Eridan. 

"You will graduate, I won't let you make the same mistakes I did. And Dad... I don't think he plans on getting a job. I think he's old and tired and-"

A branch hits the window outside, because of the breeze, but it's enough to make Cronus shut up on the matter.

"Point is, you're going places. I'm not, but you are."

-

"I don't think that's true. But okay." He suddenly doesn't feel quite as cold; it's a gesture that toes the line between familial and comforting versus something...else. 

He shifts, vaguely, but that's it.

"I hope you're right. Maybe I'll go to law school.  Buy you and Dad a great big house over in Levittown. Wouldn't that be a coup?"

-

"That would be great, just imagine it! You in all those suits and cases, I'm sure you'd just forget about me n the old man." He laughs, but the thought isn't as pleasant for him as he pretends it is.

-

"No way," says Eridan, too seriously for the conversation to really warrant. "Never. I'd be doin' it mostly for you guys. Get you a nice house and a nice life."

-

"But what about you? Do ya want to do that with your life? Want to be all pressed clean and arguin all the time?"

-

"I can argue. You know that."

-

"That's not the part I'm worried about. We weren't raised like them rich folk, we'd be new money in a money-less time. All them rich folks would... I don't even want to know, Eri. They'd eat us alive. That's what I'm worried of. Folks with money, like Antoine and Arthur Miller and every factory owner in this town who has a house with a set of china that don't have any cracks in them. Those are the folks I'm worried about, Eri."

He looks down after the monologue and grabs the milk, sipping at it.

-

"So we're stuck like this," Eridan says flatly. "I don't know why I thought it would help. Me gettin' money. It was a stupid idea." Lately most of his ideas are stupid. He looks away. He feels cold again, all of a sudden.

-

Cronus feels bad, all of a sudden. Of course, he always ended up busting bubbles. 

"No, no, no, that's not what I meant! I just... I don't want to be like them. Money would help, but I'm scared to throw away my soul for it."

Smiling faintly, he kisses Eridan's cheek with cold lips. 

"It's not a stupid idea, Eri."

-

"Yeah. Me too. It's okay, really," and he feels like the idealistic idiot little brother again. Stupid is probably the right word to use.

He looks back at Cronus and gives him a wan smile. 

"It really kinda is. It's alright. I get it."

-

Feeling that he won't win this argument, Cronus sighs and finishes the milk. 

"Wanna talk about it later, when I'm not tired and you're not sad? It's too cold and too late for this. Why not take off them jeans, we can cuddle under the quilts."

-

"Yeah. Sounds good." 

He doesn't say which part sounds good. All of it, really. 

He steps up and takes off his jeans, goosebumps already on his thighs where his boxers don't cover. He shivers and throws his jeans in the hamper before climbing back in their too small bed. 

"How's this? Better?"

-

Cronus nods and offers him a carrot as he tugs off the chunky frames. "For your eyesight," he jokes, even though the joke is bittersweet now that their mother isn't around to make it.

-

Ouch. 

"No thanks. I can just be blind. It won't matter once we turn off the light."

-

Cronus reaches up and turns the lamp off, chewing on the end of the carrot like he would a cigarette. The nest of blankets are cozy, just like they'd been when he'd gotten home. And, this time, there's a warm-ish body in them for Cronus to curl into, resting an arm on the waist of.

-

It isn't quite brotherly. It's not bad either - it just isn't brotherly. Regardless, Eridan leans into the half embrace and sighs, softly, into the chilly night air. He's warmer now. It's quiet.

-

It doesn't take much for Cronus to fall asleep again, too close to Eridan and too warm. Downstairs their father shifts, walking around and banging into things in a drunken haze.

-

It's January 17th and Sunday, which means he won't go to school and also that Cronus won't go to work. His dad used to take them to church but that was a long time ago. 

Shit. Wait. 

Cronus is asleep so that must mean he's having the dreams again, terrible things of night and fear and loathing and bloodshed. Eridan shakes him. Nothing. 

He shakes harder.

-

For once, the memories aren't bad. They're of a lover, a pretty French woman with a painted face and a stained skirt. It was refreshing to meet someone as happy and lively as her in a time such as that- but then another soldier, a Brit, shot and killed her younger sister. Then her light went out, and she'd screamed for you to get away from her, shaking you. 

Wait. She didn't shake you. She never did that. She only screamed. Who was it then?

Your eyes crack open, and you think Oh. Him. Eridan.

-

The look on his face is some bastardized marinade of disappointment and confusion and pain, which Eridan has neither the cognitive ability nor the desire to decode. 

"Just me. Sorry. Nightmare?"

-

"Not in the beginning." Cronus sighs, cuddling into Eridan. "What time is it?"

-

"Daylight. I don't know what time, my watch is over there. It's Sunday?" he offers in consolation. They always huddle together under blankets when it's cold out, splitting the heat between them.

-

Cronus smiles into Eridan's chest. "I'm glad, I have a week's worth of aches an pains that require rest. Do you mind stayin in today? I know you have those ice skating lessons that your friend Jade hosts for free, but dad wrecked his room on Thursday an I need help cleanin it." He looked up with his best puppy dog eyes, his hair mussed from a night full of tossing and turning.

-

"She hosts those on Saturdays, numb-nuts." You already missed them, which you don't say, although it's implied. 

"Shit, okay. It's Sunday. Dad gambles on Sunday." He doesn't have all that much to gamble, but that's beside the point. Mostly it means you can clean his room without him getting in the way.

-

Cronus nods- he'd forgotten that. "I sure as hell hope he didn't steal my money again. He never wins, he has terrible luck. Mom had all of it, and she never minded saying so." He sighs heavily. "Do we have to get up yet?"

-

"Nah, I wouldn't reckon so. Maybe mine; I think I left my wallet downstairs." He grimaces. "Guess we do," Eridan says, standing. "Gotta clean. You want the shower first?"

-

Cronus looks down at himself, then nods. "Go survey the damage." he gives Eridan a kiss on the cheek, then gets up and goes to the bathroom.

-

6 things to Imagine

Imagine you are sitting on a train.  
You don't know where you're going.  
And the woman across from you?  
She doesn't care where you've been.  
All that matters is the song you sing,  
The rhythm, the eloquent words,  
The beat and the bass,  
Thumping in time with your hearts. 

Imagine you are sitting on a beach,  
Passing a bottle of illegal liquids  
To illegal friends.  
They ask where you came from,  
But you don't tell them.   
You ask them, in turn,  
Where they're going,  
But they don't tell you.   
Instead you all sit, silent with your broken hearts and stolen liquors.   
Everything is the same here.

Imagine your heart is beating fast.   
The man you don't love, he's there.   
Kneeling before you and offering   
Offering a lifetime of lies and things  
Petty things that would never satisfy  
The wild card that is your heart. 

Imagine you are in your room,  
Curled up and sobbing on a bed.   
It has always been your bed, but now,  
In this moment of distress,  
It doesn't feel quite right.   
You delude yourself into thinking-  
Thinking its all alright!  
Thinking you have not been poisoned  
By the lifestyle you live.   
But, one thing you cannot afford  
To think or say or even dream  
Is that the purity of your youth  
Has been diluted so easily. 

Imagine you are a showgirl,  
Putting on a layer of makeup to hide   
Hide the pain and bruises  
Hide yourself.   
You are never yourself,   
You are the mousy housewife,  
You are the gaudy actress,  
You are the pampered puff  
Sitting in your dressing room,  
Coddled in soft furs and silks.   
You know more than you should  
Looked the wrong way.   
Whoops! There you go, into the next. 

Imagine you are slumped up against  
 the end of the world, the only thing stopping it being you. No one else coming to save the day. No one else coming.  So... Tired... Having the world on one's shoulders is nothing if the only place they can look is the ground. 

Parallels  
The sky is a dark, monotonous, rolling gray. I hate Washington so much sometimes.

School was boring, like usual. Same old bull from the same old bats. I did get one interesting thing though, a "how to read literature like a professor" book for my twin, Rose. She loves writing almost as much as psychoanalyzing- and that's saying something, because if I had a dime for every time she psychoanalyzed me, I'd have enough money to buy a new set of turntables.

We moved up here to Washington because her mom and my bro-I guess you could call him my dad but I prefer to not do that-had a chance to work in either France, Canada, or Washington. We had a couple friends in Washington, so we begged them to pick there.

And they did. And we basked in the presence of John Egbert and Jade Harley, who moved to be with her brother the year before from Hawaii.

And it was great, aside from the fact that kids at school hated us. Hated our intellect. Thought we were lame- no difference from Houston, except now my nearest and dearest knew about the shit at school. And the weather here- ugh, talk about hell. Our house is creaky and old and my room is perpetually freezing and Rose- I love her, but I really cannot stand her therapist bullshit 24/7.

But, of course, I'm not going to whine to anybody. I never do, unless John asks. And John...

Things between us aren't good. Haven't been for a while. When we were thirteen, I had a crush on his sister. I asked her out, she said no. When I was fourteen, I had a crush on John. I never asked, and he got a girlfriend. Some vicious bitch who is obsessed with luck and roleplaying and kissing. How could I ever compete?

But I got over it. I said fuck it, closed myself off for a while to romance. But then, of course, shit happened. I dated this girl, and man, did that relationship fuck me up. I stole, I lied, I did whatever she asked. And she did whatever her other boyfriend asked. It was a weird thing between us and, to be honest, the only things I really remember about him were the things that happened in the bedroom. And, of course, the person I cried to was John. But he soon began to spend all his time with his girlfriend, ignoring me. Leaving me out. It seemed like Rose and Jade saw him all the time, I only saw him when I went home with him to see him or his neighbor, this home schooled kid named Karkat.

And there is nothing wrong with Karkles. He's sweet, in a spiky porcupine way.

You're going down-sick puppies

Rockstar  
Clarity  
All I want- a day to remember   
Maroon 5  
Sure thing- Miguel  
Rap god  
Feel like home  
Berzerk  
Can't hold us  
Goin down- sick puppies   
Avicii- levels  
Lonely souls- unkle ft Richard   
Everybody hurts- concrete blonde  
Dog days are over-Florence and the machine  
Bad boys-hyper crush  
Bad moon rising-clearance water festival  
Ball-T.I.  
Two way street-Kimbra  
Urban contact aurora  
Singularity-breathe  
Make Happy-Kate Nash  
I'm not calling you a liar-Florence and the machines  
Blue jeans-Lana del ray  
I need your love-Ellie goulding  
Lily Allen the fear  
Undercover martyn  
Your biggest mistake-Ellis goulding  
Heads will roll-yeah yeah yeahs  
Love club-lorde  
When your heart stops beating  
The bitch song  
I just wanna live  
Ain't no rest for the wicked  
Your song Ellie goulding  
Last night-good Charlotte  
Somebody told me-The killers  
The river-good Charlotte  
America's suitehearts-fall out boy  
I just wanna run- the downtown fiction  
The sharpest lives-my chem  
Lying from you-Linkin park  
Chalk outline-three days grace  
Say I yi yi yi  
Sweep blue foundation  
As I moved on  
End if the day  
Megadef-styles of beyond FULL ALBUM  
Indigo flow-limp bizkit  
I like that  
Lose yourself-Eminem  
Role Model-Eminem  
Deathclub  
Take it out on me-Mitis  
Dubstep night ore-strobelights  
I love college Asher Roth  
Bast of COD modern warfare dubstep  
The rising tied album  
Mister chicken  
Holiday-green day  
The potion-Ludacris  
Someone else's-Borgore  
Radioactive-imagine dragons  
S&M-Rihanna  
All of my love-led zeppelin  
Locked out of heaven-Bruno mars  
Go all night long-ACDC

21 pilots house of gold  
My life for hire- adtr  
Fort lauderdale- adtr  
Sticks and stones   
I like it loud  
Sextin on the dance floor  
Scream for my ice cream

Vera

Mom's number- 904 429 5196

Blackout

You could tell no one expected her at the dance, and if they had imagined you would, not in the dress you'd donned. 

Oh, but you'd be damned if the looks on their pitiful faces weren't worth it. 

Especially his. Rufioh. He is breathing heavily while shakily holding a cigarette, and you wink and blow him a kiss. Just to make him shudder and drop the cig. 

Your dress has a vaguely modest neckline, covering your chest. Porrim had told you it was called a "sweetheart", in human terms. Human terms were so strange... Why call the blood pusher by any other name?

But that isn't the point. It dips down after the chest, curving along your torso to end in a point just above your rump. Porrim had the entire hem black, and even added a black line down the back too. She said everyone had their signs on their dresses, and that yours looked perfect. 

But your favorite part is the shocked looks on their faces at the deep violet shade of the fabric, and even more so when you join Cronus just in front of the dance floor. He really isn't as bad as his reputation suggests, and is a good match for you, according to every incarnation of Meulin, who was more than delighted when you went to her for help. 

Other than Rufioh, she's the only one who can understand you, since you've taken to signing with her. Kurloz creeps you out and Mituna's a nasty little *******, and Latula isn't much better by you. Meulin is the only one of the whole group you can stand. Thus, you spend time with her. It is always great to be able to talk to her without all of your own bullshit clouding the conversation. In fact, you might even be pale for her. You! Pale!

When you sought out Cronus, he'd smiled at you and run a hand through his greased-back hair, the cigarette in his teeth shaking as much as he wasn't. 

"Hey there Babe, wvhat's got you comin to this neck of the wvoods?" he chuckled. He's right, you rarely leave the places you're familiar with. 

"

Concubine

1\. Karkat

The dungeons are always so cold. It's comforting on your clammy flesh, making your too-warm skin more at ease.

You aren't wearing very much, just the metal collar around your neck and a long shirt that covered your thighs. You are smaller than the lowbloods around you, more curvy- despite the meager diet you all share.

Your elder brother isn't with you. He was "chosen" several months ago by the highbloods running this joint. You've seen him once since, and hardly recognized him.

Tousled hair, gold jewelry everywhere, a secret grin, and actual clothing. Nice clothing, at that. He'd been with a tall purpleblood. The one who was the grand highblood's favorite. You don't know his name. 

You are torn from your thoughts as you feel others shuffling around you. You are all being lined up, so it is easier to choose. 

You merely back up until you hit the wall. A group of highbloods come into the area, all standing tall with proud looks on their faces and squared shoulders- well, except for one. That one is slouching, a lazy grin on his face. You recognize his horns, they are the same as your brother's master.

You swallow thickly.

The highbloods come down the line. A blueblood with a ponytail chooses that one brownblood with wings. The twin olivebloods are chosen by a similar looking blueblood. The rustblood is led away by a blueblood in a dress, while a yellowblood is stripped on the spot by a violetblood.

But the purpleblood hangs back. Watches. You get the feeling that he has been to these events before, and that he hasn't chosen before.

But then he spots you.

Your stomach drops. His grin grows. His hands rises, and a single finger is crooked at you.

You shake and nearly stumble as you approach him. He stays where he is, leaning up against the wall casually.

"Name?" he asks when you're close enough.

"V-vantas." you hate how your voice cracks and breaks. It make you sound- well, as weak as you are. You hate that.

"Know a fucker named Kankri?"

You nod. He grins.

"Perfect."

-

He doesn't touch you. It's weird, but he doesn't. No kissing, no cheek-stroking, no hurting of any kind, not even a brush of hands.

It's weird.

He simply leads you from the dungeons, and as you pad through the freezing hallways, others stop to whistle in appreciation at you. "good job gamzee" they say, so you assume that's his name. Gamzee.

It's a nice name.

He- Gamzee stops in front of a door after countless sets of stairs and hallways and congratulative trolls. He turns and gently rests his hands on your shoulders, pushing you against the chilly stone walls.

You wince, the word "fuck" on the tip of your tongue. You keep it in though, and it's a good thing because you don't know what would have happened if you'd said it. 

His lips find your throat and he sucks. You aren't sure if you like it or not, but your hands reach forward instinctively. He lets you grab him, and you relish it's strangeness. Once you'd tried to touch a highblood, and had been beaten within an inch of your life. Maybe it was different for this type of job?

You decide you don't care when his hand slips under the hem of your tunic to stroke your bulge, then trail down to-

"F-fuck!" you whimper, the first thing you've said since he asked for your name. You rarely talk, actually. Your voice is cracked and rasping from lack of use. Your vocabulary seemed to mainly consist of creative insults, so you, after many years of being beaten for a slip of the tongue, learned to keep quiet.

But now this highblood- who owns you, by the way- is frozen, fingers inside of you and mouth on you. You really fucked up this time.

He pulls back, and you see his eyes are glittering.

"What'd you say, motherfucker?" He growls. You whimper. 

"Fuck"

It comes out easier this time, but there's still that damned rasp. 

"So a motherfucker has spice in him. I like that."

You are unsure of wether you need to sigh in relief or whimper in fear.

His lips return to your neck, and fingers return to wiggling and scissoring your nook. Your bulge practically begs for attention, coiling and wrapping around his wrist.

Your breathing quickens and a sensation that is mostly unfamiliar to you takes over. A small gasp leaves you, carrying expletives. Your legs shake, and your nether regions rid themselves of a load of genetic material.

Gamzee extracts his hand and makes a show if licking the fingers clean.

-

After the moment in the hall, he carries you the rest of the way. It's sweet, actually, that he'd do that.

It doesn't take him long to reach a locked door that, when knocked upon, reveals a tall purpleblood that you instantly recognize as your brother's master.

Huh.

You are carried inside the room, which is very purple. Very purple, very cold, and very large.

You can't stop the shiver that runs down your spine. 

 

 (porn point: gamzee and kurloz fuck Karkat and Kankri cleans the genetic mess with his mouth)

Moitessian Time Lady

Moitessians  
-dairy is like alcohol to them

 

Quentin  
-moitessian  
-female  
-has a thing for jack

Maybe the frog curtains aren't THAT bad...?

Two fire trucks, three emergency hospital vans, seven police cars, and a third of a SWAT team.

That's what it took to get Dave Elizabeth Strider from jumping off the roof of his tenth grade chemistry building.

Two psychoanalysis's later, he was being told to pack a bag- he was going to the mental asylum.

Now Dave stands in his room, eyes red from crying, hidden by his shades, and heart beating too fast in his throat.

How was he even supposed to pack a bag for this? He'd been told a few things, such as "the no jeans rule", along with "the no metal rule", and "the no electronics" rule.

He chose a messenger bag, a red one with the symbol of a scratched CD on it. It was fairly sized, and had enough pocket room to last a lifetime.

The first thing Dave packed was clothing. In went hoodies, t-shirts, and a couple pairs of comfy sweat pants.

A heartbeat later, Dave slipped some pairs of boxers in, and a small bag with his toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss inside of the bag.

These was one allowance to "the no electronics rule", and that was music-playing devices. That meant his iPod touch was being unloaded of games and filled with his favorite songs and mixes, and safely stowed inside a pocket. Alongside it were three pairs of headphones and two chargers.

Now for any "comfort" items. Dave chose a fleece blanket and a rainbow "decorative" pillow that he couldn't sleep without.

His bag was almost full, but there were still a few things he wanted to add. Dave grabbed two composition notebooks (empty), and a handful of mechanical pencils.

And last, but certainly not least, was a picture. It was well-worn, but that was okay, given how many times it had been folded and refolded, crumpled up and nearly torn. It was of himself, his older brother, mother, and father- before the divorce, before he had really been able to understand what was going on. The faces of his mother and father were worn out, and the only distinguishable thing on his brothers face were a pair of brilliant, orange eyes that still gleamed, despite the photo's age. In his brother's hands were a pair of pointy sunglasses, which he had found an identical pair of when he was six and rarely took off until his online friend sent him a new pair.

And now he was done. Dave felt his eyes prickle, but tears just wouldn't come. This was all he was going to have, for a while. As a last moment decision, he shoved a pair of silky basketball shorts in too, and oh, how could he have forgotten socks?

Dave knew that he was just stalling for time, which he didn't have. His dad was knocking impatiently on his door because, guess who was at their apartment door, just waiting to escort him to the loony bin?

The blonde's breath hitched at each bang against his door, and swept his gaze across his room, one last time. Then he picked up his bag, and left the room to go meet the unlucky bastard who had the job of escorting him to the asylum.

-

The car ride was very silent, and very boring, so Dave decided to listen to some music. The orderly, Dave had learned his position while the man was doing a loose check of his bag, was quiet and didn't like talking to people, and he especially didn't like his job. He had informed Dave of this right after they'd left the apartment complex. So, here Dave was, listening to some Fort Minor in the back of the van that was taking him to a place called "The Veil Asylum".

What even was up with the name of the place? It was strange... But he didn't dwell on the subject for long.

'High Road' had just come on when the orderly pulled into a driveway, a long one that led to a tall gray building.

"We're here, kid." The orderly said, getting out of his seat, to go open Dave's door. Dave got out of the car, clutching the strap of his messenger bag nervously, and his stomach squirming very, vërÿ uncomfortably.

They got into the lobby of the building, and the orderly checked him in. His bag went through a more thorough check, but he'd followed the rules, so nothing was removed.

Then he was told to fill out an information sheet; one with mostly normal questions on it. But then, when he reached the bottom of the sheet, he saw a few questions; such as "favorite color?", "favorite drink?", and "main interests?". Wierd.

Now Dave was being given back his bag and a new orderly kindly asking him to come with her, as she was going to escort him to his room. As they walked, it was silent again, as she only talked to tell him which important rooms were which. After a while, they stopped, and she used her keys to open a door. A moment later, he was in the room and she was locking the door behind him, with no explanations. He didn't need any.

Flicking the light on, Dave studied his surroundings. The room wasn't huge, but it was no cupboard under the stairs either. There was a twin bed with one pillow and white sheets to the left of the door, and a second door just beyond the foot of the bed. On the right side of the room was a desk, a chair, and a dresser. It was well furnished for a small mental patient room.

Setting his bag down on the bed, Dave decided to look into the door first, and then unpack his things.he crossed the room easily, then rested his hand on the doorknob, testing it to see if it was unlocked. It was. Pulling it open and flicking on the light , he saw that it was a bathroom with-

What. The. Fuck. Were those... Frog curtains? Talk about horrible taste. Bluh. Seriously, what the hell was up with that? Everything else was tolerable, and then THIS. God fucking damn.

But he shook his head, before leaving the bathroom. He had to unpack, not dwell on those shitty curtains. 

And so the clothes went in the dresser. The notebooks and shit went on the desk. The iPod and assorted electronic shit which he'd been so gracefully allowed were situated on the desk. His blanket and pillow were put on the bed. 

Wow. That was... Fucking quick. All that was left was the photograph, his toiletries, and the bag itself. 

He grimaced as he put the baggie on the sink, then left the room. Ugh. Frog curtains. So fucking tacky. 

Dave was putting the bag into the bottom drawer when something nicked his finger. Cursing, he looked at the wound, then the bag. 

A dot of red blood was welling up, and he choked up. That was too reminiscent of the shit he'd been doing up until about last week. 

In the bag he'd, apparently, hid three razor blades in a secret compartment. Huh, he wondered how those got past security...

That wasn't the point though. Hadn't he come here to get better? Hadn't that been what the psychiatrist had told him?

Ugh. He just wanted to sleep right now. 

So he shoved the bag and his three little secrets into the bottom drawer of the dresser, and curled up under the blankets on the bed.

CHAPTER 2

Dave was woken up by a knock on the door, a knock which was very loud and possibly angry. A very consistent knock. 

So he forced himself out of the warm safety of his bed and groggily opened the door. 

Two people were standing there, a scowling man and a cheery-faced woman. They couldn't have been past their mid-twenties. 

"Hello Mr. Strider! My name is Doctor Calliope, and this is my brother, Doctor Caliborn. We are in charge of medication and dosage!" she giggled. "What we need to know is if you were on anything prior to coming here, and what it was."

Dave gulped. "I.."

She smiled patiently.

"I wasn't on any prescribed pills, but sometimes my friends had me smoking weed. That was it, though." he felt vulnerable in this place- maybe it was the soft, annoying pastel color scheme. 

He'd kill for a bright, hideous clash of color. 

Caliborn jotted something down, while Calliope nodded. 

"That'll be all! Nurse Maryam will be by in a bit, to give you a schedule and talk to you, but until then you're free to do whatever you'd like to!" she giggled, and Dave retreated back into the room. 

She'd been pretty cute, and Caliborn's scowl had been a pretty welcome sight too. 

Dave grabs his iPod and headphones before flopping back into the bed. 

Hm... The only thing that sounded even remotely good was Bruno Mars' "Lazy Song"

He thought about school while he listened to the calming words and cool beat. His friends hadn't wanted to talk to him after the roof thing- or maybe it was the other way around? He didn't really remember. 

He found himself absently humming as he thought. 

His teachers were probably happy. He wasn't exactly the best student- he was bright, and knew the material, but he was sarcastic and rude. He didn't like many of the rules. 

He began to softly sing along. 

His best friend, Katy, was probably pissed and bitchy and scared and upset. He hadn't talked to her since the roof thing either. 

Another knock on the door startled him into silence- this time it was calm, composed. When he opened the door, a regal looking woman with dark skin and hair, jade lipstick, and a long white lab coat covering a dress was standing there. 

He gulped nervously, and smiled. 

"H-hello ma'am." he said shakily. 

"Hello, you are Mr. Strider, I presume?"

Dave nods. Dr. Maryam extends a hand, and he awkwardly shakes it. Fuck, she is so tall and composed and... Shit. 

"May I come in, or would you rather we speak in the hall?" she asks. 

Her voice is so smooth. It's practically intoxicating. 

He opens the door farther, and she comes in. That smile on her face sweeps over the room, and the accommodations that have been made. She perches on the chair, and Dave sinks into the bed across from her. 

"Making this place feel like home, I see?" she asks. 

He nods. 

"Tell me, Mr. Strider, what happens now?"

Dave is confused- what does she mean? He's here, in this mental hospital, because he couldn't keep himself put together. He couldn't keep his feelings under wraps, couldn't bundle up his pains and insecurities. Couldn't stop himself from cutting. Couldn't satiate the wish to die. 

"I... Don't understand the question, ma'am..."

"It's simple." she smiles. "What is going to happen now? Are you going to get better? Go to every therapy session until your scars fade? Or are you going to do nothing, fester here like an untreated sore? Will you get better, or worse?"

Dave's breath is taken away by her blunt honesty. It's refreshing, like a drink of cool water after downing a bunch of mints. 

"I'll..." he starts. 

"I'll try."

She smiles again and hands him a piece of paper from her binder. 

"I look forward to helping you try to get better."

Then she gets up and leaves. Just as quickly as it had come, the intense moment is over. 

Dave studies the schedule. Breakfast is always from seven to eight, lunch is eleven to one, and dinner is six to seven. Inbetween breakfast and lunch, he has free time mostly, except for wedesdays, thursdays, and saturdays. After lunch on tuesdays, fridays, and sundays, he has group. Wow, this really does seem just like the movies made it. There was a single activity after dinner on mondays, and it was simply labeled "Fun". How cryptic could this shit get?

But that wasn't the point, the point of this place was to get better. 

So he got up, set the schedule down, and left the room to go do something. 

The halls weren't exactly empty, but they weren't really a hustle and bustle either. 

Dave walks down the hall slowly, past a few others in sweat pants and t shirts, a few in scrubs, and one woman in an elaborate gold dress. Hm. He halfway wondered what she was here for...

Not the point. The point was to get better. To learn his surroundings. 

He happens upon a large room, and goes inside slowly. 

Wow. The cafeteria was surprisingly full and surprisingly nice. 

Dave's stomach rumbles at the familiar scent of spaghetti. He gets in line, behind a tall guy with long hair, and waits for the guy to stop obsessing over which milk he gets. 

By the time it comes time for him to pick a drink, he simply grabs the apple juice, a half smile finding its way to his face. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad. 

Stepping away from the lunch line, he looks around the cafeteria. There are a lot of full tables, but there are a lot of almost empty ones too. Truth be told, there weren't any "empty" tables, just one-inhabitant tables. 

Choosing one with a short Mexican kid at it, he sat down in the seat across from him. At this, the kid's eyes swept up. 

"Who the fucking fuck are you?"

His voice is small and hoarse, most likely from misuse and talking too much. His lips are chapped, and the dark circles under his eyes suggest he doesn't sleep much. 

"Dave Strider. And yourself?"

"None of your fucking business. Get away from me."

Dave frowns slightly. Shorty was kind of a prick- but it wasn't like Dave didn't get it. He hardly wanted small talk with strangers either. 

So he did a smart thing. He stood up, grabbed his tray, and started to walk away. 

As soon as he was situated at another table, he glanced back at Shorty. He was quietly sobbing into his hands, his shoulders hunched. 

It wrenched Dave's heart strings, with how pitiful he looked. 

"Should I go help him?" he asks outloud absentmindedly.

A perky voice replies "AC thinks the new kid shouldn't go help Karkitty beclaws he is always like this!"

Turning back around, he sees a girl who is, surprisingly enough, normal looking. Short-ish red hair, green eyes, freckles fucking everywhere. She was absolutely adorable. 

"May the new kid ask for AC's name?" he asked, voice a bit sweeter than normal. She reminded him of his best friend. 

"Purrlease, if AC gave her name out to efurry cute, blonde stranger, she wouldn't have any sense of mysteriousness about her and they wouldn't let her write fanfiction!" She rolled her eyes. 

"So you won't give me your name because I'm a stranger, even though it would be just as easy to give you my name and become friends?" The side of Dave's mouth quirks up, unbidden, into a smile. 

Glittery Scarves and too much Coffee

-

If you were to say you didn't know how you ended up at this tiny, nameless diner, you wouldn't be lying. The past few hours, minutes, days, months... They'd been a fashionable blur of your literary success and your brother's quickly rising film career. Every other book your publisher would confront you on something or another, and you'd groan and roll your eyes and not reply to their emails until you finished your next success.

So many books, and in just six years. You are perched at the top of the charts, the most well known and renowned female writer. You have heard your publisher say you are the talk of the town in almost every corner and nook of the world. Every magazine had either you, your brother, or both of you in it.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't love the attention.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't love the fanmail.

Hell, you'd be lying if you said you were bothered by it. Nothing felt quite as good as the knowledge of having the world in your pocket.

But then there is the small glitch in your plan: you're lonely.

Dave, oh he's simply wonderful, but there's nothing he can offer you besides platonic cuddling, front row seats to every movie premier, the best seats at award shows, and...

Actually, he can offer you a lot.

Just...

Not the sexual parts that you crave.

Speaking of Dave, you wonder how he is. You haven't talked to him in a while, but then again... It is filming season. He's directing three movies at once, and you'd be honestly surprised if his skinny ass was getting ANY of the proper nourishment it needed. 

When you saw him next you'd most likely have to wipe him down for makeup, especially with the media trailing him. They always do it around this time, as if they're expecting him to tell them movie magic secrets before the script had even been approved- which it rarely was, especially on the first try.

And then he'd have to check you for any of your own "stress-tells" that you'd developed, such as hair pulling and biting your cheeks. Writing books, though you seemed to knock out a new one every couple months, was damn stressful.

In your home, there was an entire room just devoted to keeping the characters and plotlines straight. It was an absolute mess, and the door was covered in faux caution tape, even though only you and your brother ever saw it.

Dave says your house is perfect, but you beg to differ. It's too large for just you, or even the two of you. Even though it's all decorated just to your liking, it never feels less than empty. Your mother said it was fine and that you were simply paranoid, but you told her that her house was just the same.

She hung up the phone call shortly after that.

When you were younger, you had a psychiatric shtick were you would practically interrogate your friends and family for hours so that you could get the hang of it all. Your mother got the blunt of it, and you would hardly be surprised if she wanted to never hear the words "and how does that feel?" again. 

But that's not the point.

The point is that you are standing, soaking wet, on the worn, muddy welcome mat of a nameless diner.

In high heels, a soaked trench coat, a ruined cocktail dress that you hated, and runny makeup. It was one in the morning, you were either a little bit drunk or a lot buzzed, and you had a massive headache.

But you didn't care.

The smile on your face and the bubbling giggles in your throat told a different story than your mess.

A teenager with short red hair and a blue cat hat on sidles up to you. She's wearing an apron, even though she seems much too young to work here- most likely a thirteen year old, at most.

"Hello miss! Would you like a change of clothes while you eat?"

You nod, chuckling.

"I would love that, thank you."

It turns out that the diner had a sort of fashionable hidden closet in the back. Nepeta, giggling, told you that you could borrow whatever you liked as long as you either paid for it, or returned it clean. She said they had a future designer in the house, and that you were pretty enough to pull the clothing off.

All of that made you nearly blush, what a flattering thing to hear so early in the non-morning harsh fluorescent light!

You eventually found a well-fitting white shirt with a symbol of an violet octopus on it, a matching skirt, and a long, black, glittering scarf. You aren't quite sure why you chose that, it just felt right.

After stepping out of the room, filled as it was with rich fabrics and stylish mirrors- seriously, they were everywhere- Nepeta wolf whistled and led you to the table where she'd set your purse.

Miraculously, all of the contents of the purse, save a pack of gum, were intact. If you wanted, you could call someone to get you the hell out of this town, which you learned was three states over from the starting party.

Not sure how the hell you managed that.

But now you are sitting, staring intently at the menu with one hand stirring a too-sugary cup of coffee.

Nepeta had to go talk to her friend in the kitchen, and you understood that, so you let her go.

It is... Eerie to be alone like this, in a diner.

It is fun, but not as fun as one would imagine.

When Nepeta comes back, she perches across from you, a smile evident on her face.

"Have you thought about what you'd like?"

You love her voice. It's perky, despite the hour, and has a rolling quality to it. You could listen to her for hours.

"I'm not sure, is one am a breakfast special or a dinner special?"

A voice from behind you cuts in.

"Neither, but for you I'm sure we could make an exception. Just try not to tell other guests, they might get the wrong idea, and mistake our kindness for weakness."

You chuckle and turn. "Paraphrasing ancient Emperors, my, I must see the lady who managed to pull that off at such a time as this."

She's gorgeous.

You aren't sure if you want to be her, with her dignified stance and squared shoulders, or be ON her, with her tall, angular shape. Fuck.

"The name's Kanaya Maryam, and yourself?"

"Rose Lalonde on most days, but just Rose on the bad days."

"So tell me, is today a Lalonde kind of day, or a Just Rose kind of day?"

You can't stop the giggle from bubbling up.

"Lalonde, but you can call me Just Rose if you'd like."

Kanaya nods holds out a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Just Rose."

When you shake the proffered hand, you find that it is soft, small, and dainty. The fingers look as if they were made to hold spin glass, and the nails have a sleek black coat. 

"It's nice to meet you as well, Kanaya Maryam."

You don't know why you are a bit short on breath at the moment. 

(rose doesn't know she's gay yet)

Pillow talk

Dave had been planning on doing homework and sleeping, but the moment he entered the apartment he was jumped by an obviously horny twin. 

"Dirk stop I need to do homework-" he groaned as the other's lips attacked his neck, sucking and biting and marking him up. 

"Come on, homework can wait! I need you right fucking now Dave, I need you!"

"Why can't you do D? He's home!"

"No, he left yesterday"

Dave groans again in defeat and Dirk drags him to the futon. Those lips are distracting as they move on from his neck to his now-bare chest, and then down to his hipbones to kiss and bite at the faint scars there. Every sensation was too much, and it didn't take much for Dave to begin writhing under his twin, wanton moans escaping, pleading for more. 

Dirk obliged, pulled his jeans and boxers down, then off, and shoving his knees up to his chin and hissing "Keep 'em up"

Dirk was so sexy when he was dominant in bed. 

Dave hardly had time to think, or even breathe, before his ass was being stretched. The impending pleasure only made this moment that much less intolerable, that much more tense and suspenseful. 

Then his dick is sliding in, and everything feels full and complete and perfect and right...

Dave shuts his eyes to savor the feeling, and then his brother is moving methodically, in and out and in and out. 

Time speeds up for the next part, where Dirk fucks him into the futon then jerks him off. They finish within a minute of each other, then curl up, naked, on the futon. 

They pass out. 

-

When Dave wakes up, he's sore and the apartment is dark, as in "it's nighttime you fuck" dark. 

Dirk is still curled up right there, blinking blearily and smiling hazily. 

"Dave?" he whispers. "Daave"

Dave just turns over, pretending to still be asleep. 

"Dave I know you're awake"

"And I know that my ass hurts and you're an asshole."

"You like pain"

"Are you seriously wanting to fuck again?"

The hand that had been rubbing circles into his hips travels south to his dick, making Dave moan. 

"It's too early... Dirk please..."

I'm scared and I don't want her to go 

these tears hurt and my throat is 

closed off and I don't know what to 

do please don't go please talk to me 

let me know let me know if you're 

okay because I'd rather waste these 

tears and find out you were joking 

than find out I can never get the 

chance to do all the things we 

planned all the things we wanted to 

all the things you never did I'm sorry I 

wasn't good enough but maybe I was 

you said so yourself but why is it of I 

was so good you still wanted this I 

know I can't be that selfish to think 

I'm the only one that caused this but 

that's just how I am just how I've 

always been just how I never wanted 

you to be just how everything terrible 

is my pain isn't couture it isn't a new 

fashion it's real and I'm scared and I 

want you please please please

 

I've always been one for long speeches  
If you hear me say otherwise  
I'm lying  
And pretending to be cool  
I've always been one for long speeches  
If you hear me say otherwise  
Let me go on pretending  
One day they'll know I'm a fool  
I've always been one for long speeches  
I would write that onto my tombstone  
If I would allow myself to die.   
I am only one woman, and I have been conditioned to believe I will never amount to anything  
But maybe I can leave my mark  
To say otherwise.   
I've always been one for long speeches  
And for good reason!  
People listen to speeches  
If you stand in the same place long enough   
For their ignorance to fail.   
I've always been one for long speeches  
And I would use one to burn the world and our views to the ground in a heartbeat!  
If only I could find the words.   
I've always been one for long speeches  
Where the words rhyme in the right places  
And the words fit in place like clockwork  
The ticking of those speeches do not calm me  
They ignite me  
My rage  
And I would use my love of speeches to ignite others  
If only I knew how  
I've always been one for long speeches  
And we can spread our wings and set fire to things  
But it must start out small  
Concise, and to the point  
So maybe that is why  
I've always been fond of short speeches

 

Prompt:

Collegestuck  
Dancestors  
I love college-Asher Roth   
Kankri gets wasted and does things he'll regret

Something russian is playing, a peppy beat to keep the party going. The room is filled with humans, with more spread out over the kitchen and patio and bedrooms. There are plastic blue and green cups everywhere, some filled with sour amber liquid, some with dark brown soda, and some upside down on the floor and tables. The home is positively filthy and positively filled with people, more than Kankri Vantas could ever hope to know.

He's uncomfortable, to say the least. He didn't come to college for the parties, he came for the classes. But, of course, Porrim had dragged him out of their dorm the second their finals were over, intent on having fun for once. She's in the corner now, doing body shots with Meenah Peixes. And Kankri is sitting on the couch, a green cup in his hand. He's staring into its dark depths, imagining that he would actually take a sip of it sometime soon. Ha.

The song changes, something with a loud, pounding bass and all kinds of metallic screeches. He sinks into the couch further, wishing he and his bright red sweater could just disappear.

But luck is not on his side tonight, or really ever. 

"Kankles! Lookin' super rad tonight, babe!"

Latula Pyrope jumps over the back of the couch, all dyed-red hair and grins and teal jacket. She's swamped in it, and her tight red dress is riding up- Kankri is amazed to find that the jacket is longer than the dress.

"Hello Latula, but I can assure you I am not rad. This party is..."

"Great, I know! And you are totes rad, Kanks, totes rad."

She throws an arm around his shoulder and she's just so damn close and-

"Whatchya drinkin?" she plucks the cup from his hand easily, nearly spilling it on them both.

"Soda, I think. I haven't actually touched it yet."

She gasps, and Kankri cannot tell if it is mocking or not. "You mean you haven't even gotten buzzed yet?"

"No, I don't drink Latula, I don't even usually attend these parties. Porrim simply wouldn't take no for an answer, however."

"You have got to drink Kanks! Come on, it'll be super radical I promise!"

Kankri swallows thickly, but there's no room for denial of her administration of alcohol- a healthy pouring of vodka- to his already questionable drink.

"Okaaaay, now drink up! This party will be so much cooler once the party Kanks comes out!"

If it had been anyone else, Kankri would have said no. Would have told her that he was leaving. Would have lectured her about consent, because this sure wasn't something he wanted to do. 

But it was Latula Pyrope. 

She cheers as he tips the cup up, gulping down the burning liquor. It hurts and he sputters but Latula grabs him by the collar and presses a kiss to his lips- anything but chaste- to keep from spilling any alcohol.

Then Latula is pulling away from him and licking her lips. Kankri feels a bit light headed, and he notices suddenly how her eyeliner is streaked down her cheeks- hidden by her hair- and how she was wearing red lipstick earlier but then she rubbed it off, but he knows how to tell.

"Did something happen?"

She shakes her head. "Mit is just... Being dumb."

Oh.

You take another gulp of alcohol and find it goes down easier this time. 

Now we don't have to worry about nothing

1\. Eridan

Vriska offers you a sort of half-smile, half-grimace as she walks away from you. You always knew your kismesitude with her was just a last-ditch attempt to be like the dead figures you both worshipped, but it still hurt. Not as much as Fef, though, so you firmly decide that you can handle it. 

Karkat is staring at you from across the lab, but a faint smile and a thumbs-up in his direction calm him. You don't need his help, don't need to take him up on his offer. You're fine. 

You happen to catch a sympathetic glance from Kanaya, the only other troll who knows what you've felt. She had a fake moirailagence with Vriska, and you with Feferi. Both of you had a relationship with Vriska, and both of you have a deal with Karkat. 

So you decide to chat her up. 

caliginousAquariam [CA] began trolling grimAuxilatrix [GA]

CA: hey kan  
GA: Hello Eridan  
GA: To What Pleasure Do I Owe You?  
CA: do you wwant to talk? like, not ovver trollian, in person?  
GA: Sure. Do You Want To Do That Now Or...?  
GA: Because My Presence Is, While Valued, Not Needed At The Moment.   
CA: yeah, noww is good.

grimAuxilatrix [GA] ceased trolling caliginousAquariam [CA]

You can see her closing down the different chats across the lab. You send Karkat and Equius a quick "gtg" as you stand. Your check your hair, and give yourself a once-over. After deciding you look fine, you walk over to her. 

"Hey kan" you smile faintly, nervously. You've never been one for random, on-the-spot plans, so you're even more out of your element than usual. 

"Hello Eridan." she smiles, and you shudder. She is so beautiful it hurts. 

You can tell the others are turning to look. You and her don't have connections, other than Vriska and Karkat. And you can tell from their faces that they are just as surprised. 

"Wwant to dump this creamsickle stand?" it is so awkwardly quiet in this room that her giggle can be heard by everyone. 

"That Certainly Sounds Like An Intriguing Suggestion, I Might Just Have To Take You Up On It."

And she offers her arm like a gentletroll, and you take it. And then the two of you walk out of the room, away from peering eyes. 

As soon as you're out of sight, you can tell a mild sense of chaos erupts. 

You burst into laughter, and Kanaya does the same. You end up holding each other as you laugh, jade and violet tears threatening from the force of your joy. 

By the time you two gain your senses, you are both beaming and it is no longer awkward. 

"Howw much you wwanna bet they're tryin to figure out howw this happened?"

"I Don't Want To Bet On Things I Know For Sure, That Simply Wouldn't Be Fair!"

Another fit of giggles overtake you two, but this one is over much sooner. You offer your arm this time, and she takes it graciously. You're taller than her, but only just. 

Eventually you find a room that is warm enough, and filled with black pillows.

My Angel puts a Devil in Me

Dean Winchester, general of Hell.   
Dean Winchester, brother of Lucifer's vessel, Sam.   
Dean Winchester, sexy as the oldest trick.   
Dean Winchester, staring at you as if you weren't an angel in the middle of a heaven/hell gang war.   
Dean Winchester, approaching you with a swing in his hips and a bite of his bottom lips. 

Castiel, Angel of the lord.   
Castiel, Thursday's protector.   
Castiel, you.   
Castiel, unable to help yourself as Dean Winchester runs a hand across the collar of your trenchcoat.   
Castiel, praying to your lord for some way to refrain from indulging in the black eyed temptress before you. 

"You familiar with these parts, precious?" Dean croons, feigning innocence. Somehow, the thought of those lips on your neck and- oh heavens no you can't think about that! But just standing here makes you think a million things you otherwise never would. 

Note:  
Make a "Gay Chicken" playlist for Dave an John made up of 99% nicki minaj and kesha

Where them girls at  
Every day is exactly the same  
Every time we touch  
Narcissistic Cannibal-Korn and Skrillex  
Pyromania  
Numb-linkin park  
Bleeding Love-Leona Lewis  
100 degrees-fort minor   
Gorgeous Nightmare  
Dirty night clowns  
Marionette  
I do it for the hip hop  
La isla Bonita  
Beat It-fall out boy  
The state of dreaming-marina and the diamonds  
Coming undone-korn  
Go hard-kreayshawn  
In the mood  
Drive by  
Heart skips a beat  
Shake it- metro station  
In a letter never sent  
Smack that ft eminem  
I love college- Asher Roth

 

Why are you my remedy

Malegebocide.tumblr.com  
brothersconflict

Dreams  
Summary:  
Kurloz has a wet dream about his moirail and we get a history lesson!  
Notes:  
This is an AU, just so you know, and the changes will be explained in this fic and later fics as well

 

"O-oh mirth! Oh messiahs!" Kurloz gasped, one hand twisted in the too-long curling locks of Mituna's hair- not that he was one to talk, his own hair was a messy afro around his face. His greasepaint was running in some places from sweat and, in the case of his lips, rough smooches. His t-shirt had been removed long ago, and his shorts and skeleton tights were pulled down to his ankles. Wrapped around his shamefully purple bulge were full lips that flushed mustard as Mituna sucked. In his nook were two fingers, curling and moving in time with the licks, sucks, and bobs of their owners head. The stimulation was too much, and Kurloz came with a long wimper and no warning.

Mituna pulled off the long, coiling tentacle and made a show of swallowing the slurry in his mouth, and licking the remaining dribbles from around his lips. "Wa2 that okay?"

Kurloz woke with a start and the first thing he noticed was how his tights and the shorts over them stuck to his body. He grimaced and sat up slowly- no wonder he slept so uncomfortably, he had passed out in his husktop chair and then fallen onto the ground. He got up then, legs wobbling from the release just moments ago. He made it to the ablution trap and stripped himself before flopping into the previously prepared water.

It was cold, obviously, but it was better than being too warm and hazy. The cold felt good on his skin, which felt a little feverish if he was being honest. There was a small honk from beside him, and he jumped in surprise- until he realized it was from the little iHusk that he'd left on the side of the bathtub last time he used it.

It was a message on trollian from previously mentioned moirail, and it said "MY MOIIRAIIL 2EN2E2 ARE TIINGLIING, WHAT HAPPENED?"

He gulped as he tapped up his reply. "iT hApPeNeD aGaIn. ThE dReAm."

"WHO THII2 TIIME?" Mituna replied almost immediately, knowing exactly what Kur was talking about. Kurloz had told him every single time the wet dream happened, and had even been pressed for details on certain occasions (such as when the dreams featured Latula, Damara, and even a strange troll who looked a little like him, but oh so different).

"yOu." Tonight was a first though, in that the dreams had never featured Mit before. Kurloz set the phone aside and sank lower into the water, submerging his face and the base of his horns, along with all of the hair between the base of his neck and there. He stayed there for just a moment longer than most trolls, as he had a set of gills on each side of his chest- he was almost a seadweller, but not quite. The landdwelling part of him was dominant, therefore preventing any further changes to his appearance... Unless you counted the slight webbing between his toes, or the excessive need to talk to Cronus and Meenah.

Sitting up, he reflected on his strangeness, and in the end he blamed it on his mutant purple blood. none of his other friends were of the color, and only one other had had the mutation in all of Beforan history- the signless.

The signless was a huge troll who spoke of mirth and paradise and the great honk. He had monstrous hair and tall, tall horns that curved delicately at the tips and bowed frighteningly in the middle. He had been born into a society with zero tolerance for mutations- a lime blood with a tail could be culled just as easily as a blue blood with flutterfiend wings instead of ears- and it took a jade blood with infinite patience and skill to raise him. In a bout of rage, he accidentally culled her during his fourth sweep, and then had to deal with his sins alone. He began to preach about his visions and hallucinations when he was eight sweeps old, and all who paid attention to his words began to believe in his tales. He had three followers; a lime blood with nubby horns, the lime blood's olive matesprit, and a rust blood who acted as a matesprit and a kismesis when he required it. Eventually, though, the tyrian empress sent her two most faithful to capture him and his trustees. The mustard blood held him with psionics while the indigo blood culled the olive blood, and captured the rust and lime bloods. The signless was laid down on a stone table before the empress- who was usually so, so kind- and she ordered her third most faithful to humiliate the signless while his friends watched. After being roughly raped many times by the violet blood, the empress carved the sign that Kurloz now bore into the flesh of his chest and hissed "Your followers call you "Signless" as t)(ey start riots and rebel, now t)(ey s)(all call you a disgrace as t)(ey sit quietly in their hives". After this, she ordered for a teal blood legislacerator to hang the signless. And then, they did.

Just thinking about it makes the birthmarks around Kurloz' neck ache, and a hand comes up to rest lightly on them. They are shaped just like rope marks, yet another reason he believes the signless is his ancestor. The only other rational reasons are the purple fluids tingling the bath water, and his bouts of rage, coupled with his belief in the signless' preachings.

The iHusk honks at him, reminding him of the conversation he'd been having.

"OOH, WHAT WA2 II DOIING?"

"KURLOZ? II2 IIT THAT BAD?"

"HEY, ARE YOU 2TIILL THERE OR AM II 2TAYIING UP AT 3AM FOR NO APPARENT REA2ON?"

"OKAY II 2TIILL DON'T 2EE THAT HEMONEUTRAL GRAY TEXT YOU 2PORT, 2O II'M GOIING TO GO TO 2LEEP."

He has a moment of guilt for ignoring the other, then taps in a reply that explains the dream in vivid detail for the other to get off to the next morning- Kurloz wasn't stupid, he knew that was what the other did with his descriptions and- on occasion- doodles of the positions and activities.

Tonight there is only one doodle, and it is of Mituna looking up at him through his lashes and bangs as he sucks intently on a nondescript gray bulge, and you can just see his fingers curled in a nook just beneath his chin. For a clumsy doodle, it is very detailed.

Kurloz sets the iHusk aside after he sends it and settles lower in the bath water, taking a pale cloth with old gray and white stains on it to his greasepaint. He is lucky it comes off easily, as other times it hasn't gotten as much of a chance to soften as this time. When that is clean, he takes a second cloth to his bulge and nook, tentatively wiping then clean. But, it seems tonight is not his lucky night, and the nook dampens and the bulge becomes active, secreting more purple liquids to seep into the ablution trap's previously murky water, only making it harder to see through.

Kurloz had decided not to masturbate after 5th sweep, where he experimented enough to make him cringe now. He was considering going celibate, but was unsure if having a matesprit and moirail and potential kismesis violated that vow. But now, softly panting in chin deep water that was dirtied with his own genetic fluids and makeup, he was so tempted to just do it once-

He snatched his hand out of the water violently when his iHusk honked again, and he found himself oddly grateful to see the lime text staring him back.

"Kurloz, I am surprisedy to see you awake at su€h an hour as this. What is troubling your mind, if anything at all?"

Kurloz rolls his eyes, smiling at the other's concern. Of course Kankri would be up at 3- no, 4 am, asking him if something was messing with his think pan.

"nAh BrOtHeR, i JuSt HaD a BaD dReAm. WhAt AbOuT yOuRsElF?"

The reply takes a bit longer than Mituna's, and it is obvious that Vantas is carrying two conversations. "Just having a late night €hat with Porrim, the usual."

Kurloz resists the urge to send Kankri an "aww" because he knows that the other is experiencing some mad flushes right now, as his matesprit seduces him in the dead of night. "sHaLl I lEaVe YoU tWo AlOnE?"

"That would be appre€iated, but it's up to you. I am the one that trolled you in the first pla€e, so, if you may wish to do so, you may €ontinue this €onversation if you'd like."

He disconnects from the conversation with Kankri, thinking about why the limeblood has such an odd quirk... Well, when considering all of the possible quirks he could have had, it wasn't as odd, and when knowing the reasoning behind it the quirk seemed perfectly natural. The "€" reminded Kankri of his lusus, and also happened to be the most similar to his sign.

Eventually Kurloz gets out of the bath completely, and uses a nearby towel to wipe off as much of the water as he can, despite the fact that right after this he will be getting inside of the purple slime of his recuperacoon anyways...

He stops and just walks to the recuperacoon, hopping in and curling into a ball while shutting his eyes tight. It's not long before a dreamless sleep overtakes him, allowing him to keep his not-quite vow intact for another night.

Series this work belongs to:  
Part 1 of the Mutant Purple series »

 

Playing the Game  
Summary:  
Kurloz wakes up and talks to some friends before he enters the game that Damara found and his moirail translated, entitled "SGRUB"

 

Chapter 1

You blink your eyes open, and you see nothing but purple goop. You smile dreamily and suck in a mouthful before sitting up and wiping your eyes clean.

It wasn't the first time you'd wondered about the sopor slime, and why it was the same fucking shade as your blood. All you could hope was that, if you bled, your pals would mistake it for splotches of slime.

Maybe there were other mutants, like you. Maybe they never grew to maturity, and were culled on sight. It was said that purplebloods- not the kinds like Cronus, the kinds around your shade- had mental powers, kind of like psionics, but different. They were called "chucklevoodoos" and they could get into your head, and give you nightmares worse than anything you could have dreamed up. It was a bit of a scary prospect, but then again, there was no such thing as a one-sided-coin. Maybe it was possible that the chucklevoodoos could do so much more than just terrify and destroy.

You think you might have them. Sometimes you talk to your neighbors, and zone out. When you come to, neither of you know what happened while you were out, except that there is a possibility you might have kissed?

It's not that strange of a thought, kissing Meenah, but Cronus.... Ugh. But even you can't deny the fuchsia lipstick and the smudging of your skull-inspired face paint. Or those rare times when it's Cronus you were talking to. Just thinking about it makes you shudder. Ugh.

When you finally get out of your recuperacoon and take a bath, you are relaxed. Very relaxed. So much, in fact, that sleep is threatening when you are startled awake by that damn honk on your iHusk.

You seriously need to move that. But then again, you always forget to. Maybe it's better, then, that it's here.

Speak of the fish devil and he shall appear, you think as you see that damn violet text. That stupid quirk. Ugh.

"hey wvizard clowvn, you up yet?"

Ugh.

"yEs I aM cRoNuS. wHaT dO yOu WaNt?"

"i'm here to tell you that meenah wvants you on our team for that game your moirail and that wvierdly hot eastern girl devweloped."

And by "wvierdly hot eastern girl" Cronus means Damara. She's pretty cool, you have no problems with her. She is nice enough, other than her... remarks. You kind of think that you might know eastern beforan. Kind of. Maybe. You have a handful of vague memories from grubhood of a female troll with large horns cradling you, and murmuring sweet words in the language. You're also pretty sure that what she was saying was the teachings of your (possibly) ancestor.

So yeah, you know a bit of it.

"oH, tHaT wAs ToDaY?" You guess no one ever really told you when they were doing it. Huh. Some friends they were.

"yeah. and i'm guessin you wvant your moirail and moirail's matesprite on the team too?"

"wHaT dO yOu MeAn, MiTuNa DoEsN't HaVe A mAtEsPrItE."

You frown and sink until only the top of your ears, eyes, and hands are above the water. Maybe you should ask Cronus or Meenah for a waterproof iHusk soon... Nah. You're fine without one, for the time being atleast. No need to alert anyone of the frilled slits on your sides...

"uh kur i think there's somefin mit isn't tellin you..."

You growl. Even if Mituna did have a matesprite, why would this asshole know, before you?

"he does havwe one."

"that east beforan chick"

"they're together"

You close out of the chat, angrily, and tap on Mituna's trollian handle.

"Mit. Is there something you need to tell me?"

You turn off the quirk, because this is a serious matter. You're his moirail, and he hasn't told you??

"uh... not anything that i can think off. why did you take your quirk off? what made you think there was something?"

"Cronus and i were talking today."

"oh shit."

And suddenly Mituna goes offline. You throw the iHusk against the wall and shudder as the pieces land in the water. You narrowly avoid getting electrocuted by doing a totally awesome flip out of the water, and hit the door. You manage to bang your shin against the doorknob and hiss in pain, hopping on one leg out of the room.

Turns out that you are not alone in this home. Well, fuck.

Meenah is standing in your hall, looking a bit lost. She sees your nakedness, and flushes immediately, before raising an eyebrow in more than mild confusion at your gills. You open your mouth to say something, but instead dash for your room, tugging on a pair of shorts and a huge t-shirt, so that she doesn't see anymore of you than she has to. You don't have time for the tights.

You walk back out to her, and she bursts into laughter. You can't help but join in, after a few moments.

"What the GLUB were those, Kurloz?" She chuckles, after a while. You two have made it out into your living room, and are twisted together as you cuddle. You bite your lip. "Gills."

She hits your chest. "They were not! How could they be? You're not a seadweller... Are you?" Pulling her head up a bit off your chest, she blinks.

You bite your lip, and shrug. "Kind of? I mean, the mirthful messiahs don't discriminate what their followers are..." You're just stalling. You don't want to talk about it. Plus... She might have seen the color of the frills. Fuck, you hate your body and it's alien-ness, even among trolls just like you.

"Oh, that's bullshit and you know it... I want the truth, Kurloz."

You sigh.

"I don't know what I am, Meenah. I..."

You pull up the shirt a bit to show her the gills, and the frills on the other side as well. She pokes them, and you wince.

"Wow. I... Thought I was seein things." She kisses the corner of one, and you jump back a bit.

"Don't you care about the color?" You ask, nervous.

She looks at the frills again, and does a double take. "Wait- what?? I've only seen that color in my recuperacoon and-"

She goes deathly pale, and you see fear in her eyes.

You understand her fear. Your own matched hers.

"In the empress' room... She keeps... Oh my cod" She is nearly sobbing, and you understand why. You want to sob, yourself.

You pull your matesprite into your chest, and hold her until she stops crying.

"My mom would cull you if she found out" She whispers, and you press your face into her hair, surrounding yourself in the familiar scent of spray paint and sea salt. It feels safe to you, and you can't imagine anything else feeling the way this does.

"Shh, shh..." You murmur, and it's a long time before either of you move.

 

Chapter 2

It's late into the night when you and Meenah get startled. It's her goggles, and the app inside them is alerting you two of a message.

She kisses you softly on the lips, and wipes at her eyes again. "Kurloz, I have to go now, and start the game... Just... I'll need you to be Cronus' server player. After that, will you bring Mituna in to be your server player? We'll meet up on my land, I promise." She kisses you again, and you nod.

And then she leaves.

The first person to ever know, and she has to leave to play a video game during the end of the world.

Well, you're going to play that video game too, but does that point even really matter?

So you sit in your living room alone for an hour before you you make yourself a sandwich and go back to your room to check and see if you have any messages on pesterchum.

Nope, nothing. Maybe Cronus got someone else, and forgot about you. Maybe you should just join the other team, you're not really in the mood to deal with any of your quadrantmates or possible quadrantmates...

Except, Oh yeah, you kind of don't talk to many other people. Well, shit.

Oh. Except that girl. The one who just sent you a message You don't know why you talk to her, but you do.

"Kulo+z, Ho+w are yo+u to+day? Have yo+u started yo+ur sessio+n yet?"

You sit in the chair backwards, and send her a message back.

"nAh, BuT i'M sUpPoSeD tO gO oN sOoN. wHaT aBoUt YoU?"

"I am actually in the medium right no+w. With Kankri. I was the leader fo+r my team, and we're getting things do+ne rather quickly."

You smile and roll your eyes. Of course, Mama Maryam gets shit do+ne. Like always.

"gOoD jOb SiS. aNd WhY dO i HaVe ThE fEeLiNg ThAt YoU aNd KrAnKi KaNkRi GoT uP tO a LiTtLe SoMeThInG sOmEtHiNg? ;o)"

You hear the sound of a new chat opening and scowl. Of course it's Cronus, ruining your chat.

Series this work belongs to:  
« Part 2 of the Mutant Purple series

Playing the Game

Chapter 3

"chief"

"i need you to connect wvith me nowv"

"chief"

"hurry the fish up"

"I just sawv some serious shit"

You groan as you  read through the messages. You start installing the program before finally replying.

"iT's BeInG dOwNlOaDeD nOw CrO"

You are distracted from your trollian screen by the loading screen- damn those colors and hues were miraculous. Almost made a motherfucker want to pray- almost. 

The noise of trollian distracts you from the swirling colors. It's from that one girl who lives nearby kinda, and is always giving historical lectures. You elect to ignore her, since every precious conversation between the two of you had ended in you deciding to self-destructively eat more slime than you should. 

The conversation with your least favorite seadweller continues.

"kur"

"wHaT?"

"theres been a change a plans, answver aranea"

You groan. Of course you have to deal with her.

So you open up the message she sent.

"kurloz, it seems that you will 8e the one connecting to me, I already connected to Cronus."

Your eyes narrow. What the hell?

"eXcUsE mE sPiDeRsIs WhAt Do YoU mEaN yOu CoNnEcTeD tO cRo?"

"I mean that I will 8e joining my moirail in this g8me."

Ugh. She claims to be Cronus' moirail, but in reality he was terrified of her. 'Ranea had a habit of getting what she wanted, even if it meant taking it by force or breaking others down to get it. Her many years of murder- "to feed my lusus!" she would justify. Everything had a motherfuckin justification with her.

"i think you were outta place sis."

You have been turning your quirk off a lot recently.

"oh don't tell me you're going to go on a tangent a8out mirth and messiahs and how I 'sHoUlDnT aLl Up AnD mOtHeRfUcKiN dO tHaT' 8ecause honestly it's annoying and no one likes hearing it"

Oh. That was out of line. Real fucking out of line.

"oh, you want to play that card, little miss history lessons and 8itchiness? no one enjoys your lectures and we all know the truth"

"and what would that 8e?"

"that you're a murderous 8itch with a penchant for taking good trolls down a few pegs that they can't afford losing."

"mr. Makara"

"ms. Serket."

"i h8 you"

"I hate you too"

Well, that was kind of weird... But it was coming, you guess. You two had kind of been hatecrushing on each other for a while? But is it even really a relationship? Hah, how the hell do you have this many quadrants filled? You're shit at this.

Oh. Look at that. SGRUB is done downloading. Okay.

It gives you no options, there is no opening screen. It just launched immediately. Aranea- it has to be her, who the fuck else would live in an uncomfortably large castle-hive that was covered in blood from all over the spectrum, and had a large spider lusus perched, headless outside?

You send her a new message.

"I sEe YoU sIs :o)"

She looks around instinctively onscreen before replying. 

"Deploy the devices."

The drop-down menu that you find has six "devices" in it. You take one, medium sized, and put it right next to her. 

She jumps, even though she did the same thing to Cronus.

The rest of the devices are deployed nearby, so she will be able to do what she needs- the less time you have to deal with her the better.

It only takes an hour or so for her to give you a thumbs up. Her medium is awkwardly gorgeous, and her god tier outfit- how the hell she got to god tier within fifteen minutes is beyond you- is very attractive.

But you tear your eyes from that screen, and install the next part. Tha part that will have you dealing with your moirail.

Wait- shit you forgot you were mad at him. Blackmon banter and Aranea's awkwardly cute ass distracted you.

"KURLOZ?"

The message makes your throat clench.

"ARE YOU 2TIILL MAD AT ME?"

"FOR NOT TELLIING YOU ABOUT 'MARA"

You ignore the messages for a minute more, despite the guilt in your throat. You scoot your chair over to your recuperacoon to grab a handful of slime. Sucking on your fingers, you feel so calm. So wonderfully calm.

Until there is a crash outside your hive. 

Playing the Game

Chapter 4

"2ORRY"

"YOU DON'T HAVE ROOM IIN YOUR HIIVE"

"IITS VERY NICE BY THE WAY"

"AND YOUR HAIIR II2 JU2T HOW YOU DRAW IIT"

An absentminded smile graces your features. Of course your moirail has to up and compliment you when you're feeling down like this.

"tHaNk YoU mIt I nEeDeD tHaT"

"BUT II DON'T KNOW WHY YOU ALWAY2 DRAW YOUR2ELF WITH FACE PAIINT"

"YOU DON'T HAVE ANY"

You freeze.

Shit.

A Vast HoNk

"Stop that!"  
"I'll motherfuckin cull you if you don't stop!"  
"Kurloz I swear to your bitch of a matesprit if you don't stop touching me I will murder your idiot moirail!"  
"KURLOZ STOP IT"

The one sided conversation over the grand highblood's head was making him want to yell. Did those two brats have nothing better to do than to annoy the living shit out of him?

"Kurloz- fuck"

You hear the sounds of hands on skin and under clothes, and groan. Your descendant is panting, your other timeline self making him that way.

"O-oh my fuck"

His  voice is husky and by the infinite amount of hair on your moirail's head- if genetic material gets in your hair you will cull them both, bring them back to life, and cull them again.

Gamzee slips from his position holding into your horn, and lands on your head on his back. You can feel Kurloz slip inbetween his legs, and then hear the slick sounds of him entering Gamzee.

Your growl of anger is fearsome.

-

The Empress is giggling at you as she washes your hair. She finds it funny that you have purple all through it, even though none of it is technically yours.

Primadonna Girl

"All I ever wanted was the world"  
She says through blue lips.  
"Would you do anything for me?"  
"Buy a big diamond ring for me?"  
Her ego causing more destruction  
Than she could ever realize.  
"I'm a Primadonna girl"  
"All I ever wanted was the world."  
Tune constantly changing  
From sweet and fake  
To jumpy and faker  
Than the tune that preceded it.  
She wants it all  
But it's not her time-  
That has come and go.  
"Primadonna girl"  
"All I ever wanted was the world"

Prompt:

Gamzee and Dave <3


	3. Chapter 3

The prettiest pair a green eyes around

Dick is in love with a supervillain. As weird as that sounds, he is. And he can't ever tell batman- that would end so badly. So so badly. So the robin is "kidnapped", and goes on romantic dates, and even fucked his personal villain, all while hoping Bruce doesn't catch why he limps after his kidnappings. 

Also, what if Wally's dad *had* beaten the hero out of him? Killed his mother and beaten him into insanity? Also for some reason Wally is in prison Flash doesn't talk about his former sidekick because he's too guilty and upset and raw even after seven years. 

-

CHAP 1

Dick Grayson had met his match in a city that wasn't Gotham, and he wasn't going to lie, he sort of wished Central City was his after how things had gone. On a favor for his mentor, Bruce Wayne, he'd agreed to watch the city while Barry and Bruce did whatever. It was probably business, maybe sex, who even knew anymore?

Being honest, he was glad for the practice. After seven years patrolling Gotham with Bruce, he knew every nook of the filthy town and an uncomfortable portion of its secrets. He could ride from the batcave to Arkham blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back- he knew. He'd done it. 

But the practice in a town that he barely knew was amazing. The air here was cleaner, and the people were happier. But, luckily for him, there were still sleazes infecting the population. 

And so he followed a call on an escaped prisoner, only a little annoyed at the half-hour it'd taken to find the niche.

It wasn't an abandoned building, or a warehouse or factory or store. It was a house. A normal house. 

Knowing better than to walk in through the front, Dick circles around to the back, ignoring when a sudden breeze blows the wrong way across the back of his neck. He's wearing civvies, since this is broad daylight, but has everything he normally does with him, hidden by the large jacket and loose pants. 

Inside the house, there is an eerie quiet. It is long abandoned, covered in a thick layer of dust. There is a bowl of nothing on the kitchen table, with long-rotten dried patches where there were once fruit. In a glass terrarium, there are several turtle shells and skeletons. 

The contrast between this place and the rest of the town are glaringly obvious. While outside is ideallistic and beautiful, terrible things have happened here. Blood stains on the fridge, and a broken mirror. Beer bottles on every surface, and cigarette butts in the oddest of places. Even now, so many years after whatever tragedy, the house still reeks of nicotine and bedlam and pain. 

But what draw his eyes is the figure standing still as a picture in the middle of the living room connected to the kitchen. He is wearing a large red shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, despite the heat and stuffiness in the house. He has a shock of red hair, and is turned away from Dick.

Then he turns to face him. 

His face seems blurry, as if he's a speedster who is moving too fast, while still staying in one place. And he's smiling. Fucking smiling! It's terrifying, and that's coming from the boy wonder, who'd seen many horrific things in his time. The person- no longer a boy, not yet a man, takes one slow, tiny step before  speeding to appear just an inch in front of himself.  

The guy has freckles and green eyes. And red hair. Red. Hair. 

Yep, Dick is screwed.  

"Heythereareyouwhattheymakeherosouttanowadays?" The speedster asks. He peers even closer in at Dick, grinning now. His teeth aren't the whitest, but the smile is breathtaking. 

"Yes. And what of you?" He asks.

The speedster's head twitches as he bites his lips to make a humming noise. "I wassgoing to be a hero." He speaks slower this time. 

Dick's heart wrenched at those words. "What hero were you going to be?" He couldn't help asking. 

"KiddFlash" The smile is gone. "Whyareyouherewhoareyou"

"I'm Robin, Batman's partner." He said. "And I'm here to help you."

The speedster tenses up. "Whywouldanyonehelpmeididsomethingbadineedtostayhere"

Dick can hardly understand his speed talking. "Hey, hey, slow down its alright. You're not bad, and this..." he looks around the house. "This isn't a place to stay."

"Thisiswheretheywherethisiswhereimsupposedtobe"

"You don't need to be here- you can come with me, to a safe place." Dick finds that he wants to help the speedster, honestly wants to take him somewhere far from this hell. 

"Whatsafeplace" the speedster asks. 

Dick falters- what place could he take him? The prison wasn't an option, but maybe Arkham? No.  That was a cruel and unique form of torture that the speedster didn't deserve. 

Maybe he could bring him to the manor, or...

"I will make you a safe place, just give me a few days."

The speedster nods, swallowing. "WhatwillIdountilthen"

Dick holds his hand out and offers a small smile. "Come with me."

He is relieved when the other does, in fact, take his hand. 

CHAP 2

The speedster- Wally West, he learns- is tiny. His wrists are thin and fragile, almost like a bird's. He is taller than Dick by an inch or two, but thinner by a few more than that. Hell, he was sure that he'd be able to count the other's ribs if he wore a tighter shirt. 

All of this scared Dick- he knew that speedster's were supposed to eat a lot to sustain their metabolism. Years of being with Bruce, and his friend Barry, had taught him a few things about speedsters, and from what he could tell, Wally needed help. 

As he thinks about it, Dick can't help but think about that first night.

-

Dick can feel Wally's arms clench even tighter around his midsection as he pulls the motorcycle into the garage- the one up top. He doesn't trust the speedster with the bat-cave secret- no matter how many secrets he's already revealed. He knows that he's going to cave and tell Wally about his past later, too. But for now he's just going to have to deal with the idea that Robin- the boy wonder- saved him from prison life. 

Alfred is there, holding a tray with a cup of tea on it. Not for the first time, Dick wonders if the man is a meta with psychic abilities- he most certainly hadn't called ahead. 

"Alfred, you shouldn't have!" He says as he gets up, running a hand through his windswept hair. Wally is also getting up, removing his helmet. 

"Not for you, for your guest." Alfred's tone is clipped as he offers the speedster a cup of earl grey tea. Dick pouts, but is glad. 

"Please don't tell Bats he's here we'll only be staying for a few days- a week tops- an I'm going to get him situated uptown and then I'll talk to Bats I promise." He says. Alfred nods in response.  "Also, Master Bruce requested your presence tonight for dinner at Gotham's finest restaurant- you know his favorite. You will be joining him and Master Barry."

Wally visibly flinches at the name Barry, but Dick tries not to respond to it- he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. 

He turns to Wally then, taking hold of his hand- the speedster calms down when Dick is touching him- and smiles. "Wally, I have to go take care of this, and you'll stay here while I do. I promise you, you will be safe here with Alfred. I will not let anyone hurt you or take you away, I promise." He turns his head to look at Alfred again, still holding the redhead's trembling hand. "Alfred, can you please make Wally something to eat and escort him to my room afterwards?"

Alfred nods, and Dick turns back to Wally, smiling. "See? You can trust him, trust me. We're going to take care of you."

Wally nods numbly and his hands shake more. His lips are blurry, and he looks like he wants to cry. "ThankyouRobinicantthankyouenoughim" he steps forwards, and Dick opens up his arms to hug the other. 

What scares him is how tiny Wally is. Barely there, a wisp of a teen. Dick's arms wrap around him easily, and he's snug. A bony chin resting on his shoulder, a pair of fragile arms placed awkwardly around his shoulder's, a heart beating frantically, reminiscent of a hummingbird. And yeah, all of that sort of totally scares him. 

As they embrace, Alfred looks on, still holding the tray with the tea on it.

Reluctantly, Dick pulls back from  the hug, and he smiles at the speedster. Wally smiles back, albeit nervously, but it's still a smile. 

"I'll be back later." He promises, before turning to leave again. 

"Master Robin! You might find it a good option to change your clothing." Alfred says. He blinks and glances down at his outfit, realizing that it was, in fact, not suitable for where he was going.

"I'll be just a moment then." He says as he runs forwards, heading towards his room. When he gets there he strips and puts the suit away, and replaces it with a black shirt- the one with a batman symbol on it, he was a fan of irony- a pair of dark jeans, and a leather jacket. Then, of course, he shoved his wallet into his back pocket, though he knew Bruce wouldn't make him pay for the meal. 

He hopes this goes well. 

As Dick hops over the edge of the stairwell in favor of dropping to the first floor quietly, he hears noise from the kitchen and quickly goes to investigate. 

He sees Wally on a stool at the kitchen island, talking to Alfred as a pot of something bubbles on the stove. He has a bowl in front of him, and Alfred is smiling. 

Dick is happy with this revelation, and feels much better as he leaves. When he gets down to his motorcycle and puts the helmet on, it seems as if nothing could go wrong. 

The ride to Bruce's favorite diner is quick, And when he walks in, Leona directs him to the familiar booth. Bruce nods at him, and Barry smiles.

"How was the trip?" Dick asks as he settles in on the opposite side of the booth, setting his helmet next to him. Bruce smiles. "It was productive."

Barry nods, then turns to face Dick. "How was Central while I was gone?"

"It was beautiful, and none of your rogues came to visit me. However, I have to ask, a prisoner broke out of Central City jail today..."

Barry's brow furrowed. "Who was it? Did you bring them back?"

"I didn't manage to find him, no, but it was a Wallace West. I-" he pauses at the sudden look of pain on Barry's face. "Is something wrong?"

"I haven't heard that name in six years..." The speedster sat back in the seat and ran a hand through his hair. 

Dick was surprised- six years? When he'd glanced at Wally's file, it had said he was seventeen, only a year older than himself. But he kept quiet, waiting for the older man to speak. He'd just opened his mouth when Leona comes to the table, to take their orders, though she hardly needs to, since they always get the same thing. She smiles as she walks away, and a glance shows that her hips are swaying. But she isn't important to Dick right now, Wally is. Barry is. 

"Back when you were just starting out with Bruce, I met a woman who I fell in love with- you've met Iris before. It didn't take long for her to find out that I was- you know. And she didn't care about it, she was actually happy that she'd be able to thank me for saving her nephew and herself a few years before- I didn't remember it, I had saved so many people... But still. She introduced me to him, and I immediately loved the kid. He was perfect, everything I'd always wanted in a son. I... I didn't notice that there was anything wrong."

Dick wanted to ask, but refrained from doing so. 

"After he found out that I was a hero, he asked me tons of questions about how I did it, and I never thought that he'd try to replicate the experiment."

His eyes widen as he stares at Barry. What? He'd heard about that, about the failed experiment and the new power that Barry had received from it. He still doesn't speak, but he notices Bruce's hand snaking around his friend's back to rub reassuringly at his back. Hm, he'd have to remember to ask about that. 

"He survived, and when he came out of the hospital three days later, he was fast, not as fast as me, but fast enough to earn the title 'Kid Flash'. I was upset at first, but then I decided to take him on as my sidekick. For a while, everything was great. The rogue gallery adored him, and Piper was always getting him on his own- I should have seen it then,  I should have realized why, where they hated me, they cared about him. At the time I chalked it up to his age. But then things started happening. Bruises he couldn't play off as nothing, cuts he couldn't explain, and on days where he didn't fight very well I'd notice a limp."

Dick's throat closes up and he wants to cry, but then their food comes and he's trying not to look too distraught. The group is silent for a moment before Barry continues. 

"It was his dad- Iris didn't know, didn't think her brother did that. After all, Mary was fine, so who would think that Wally was being hurt?"

There's another silence. 

"I blame myself, I should have protected him. Should have saved him. He didn't deserve that, or what he got for finally letting go."

"What do you mean by letting go?" Dick can't help but ask. 

"He snapped- his dad beat the hero out of him. His dad killed his mom too, and then had the audacity to kill himself. Wally disappeared for a few weeks, then I heard that there was an issue, a hold up. Wally was there, and he was covered in blood and bruises and I-" he covered his mouth with a sob. Bruce pulled him into his arms. 

Dick felt tears coming down his own cheeks and looked down somberly at his waffles, and two plates of bacon. He wasn't hungry anymore, he just wanted to go back to the manor and grab Wally and hug the speedster until he was better. 

But, obviously, he couldn't do that right now, so instead he picks up his fork and starts to pick at the waffle. 

Barry leaves Bruce's arms, and takes a deep breath. "Wally had a gun- no, a pair of guns. And he had held up a bank because he needed help, and he knew it. Iris was outside, sobbing off-camera as I went inside. Wally... He started shaking when he saw me, and he was babbling and crying an pulling at his hair and the people in the bank were scared and there was money everywhere, floating down slowly, and when Wally saw me he backed up, sobbing and b-babbling more and he fired six shots because he was scared before I could even say anything, and then then he started vibrating and he didn't do it right and the guns fell then they exploded and I couldn't help him I couldn't stop him!" Barry's hand tightens on the edge of the table. 

"They locked him up because I failed him and I didn't see his pain and I didn't know and I didn't stop him."

Conversation after that is minimal. 

CHAP 3

Dick gets home before Bruce does- something about escorting the distressed speedster home. He finds Alfred alone, cleaning the kitchen.

"Where's Wally?" He asks, settling down at a stool for the cup of tea being pushed in front of him. Alfred knows him so well. 

"Master Wally is sleeping in a guest bedroom on the opposite side of the house from everything Master Bruce usually uses."

Dick nods knowingly. "So basically everything near the Wayne's rooms. Understandable. Thank you again, so much." He is actually sort of glad Alfred set the speedster up away from Dick's room, since sometimes Bruce had a habit of talking to him. Came with the gig, usually enjoyable. 

"Master Grayson, you should be thankful for my presence." He said with a smile. "Otherwise you would be hard pressed to keep anything from Master Bruce."

Dick nodded as he took a long sip of tea. "How else would I have been able to stay Robin so long?" he asked, grinning. 

Bruce walked in at that moment, jacket slung over one shoulder. Alfred slid a cup of tea and a glass half full of cognac to him. "You've been Robin for so long because I can't get rid of you otherwise." He said, though Dick knew he was only joking- he liked to pretend he'd last on his own without a Robin by his side to keep him in check and keep things interesting. 

"So, now that we're no longer in front of Barry- you know I have to ask Bruce."

"You picked up on it." 

"How could I not?"

Bruce chuckled and sighed. "I raised you well."

"No, you raised me smart. There's a difference and it keeps me alive to keep bugging you."

Alfred laughs at that, while Bruce takes a long sip of his tea, followed quickly by an equally long sip of the alcohol. 

"Barry and I are dating."

"What of his wife, Iris?" Dick raised an eyebrow. 

""We're also dating."

"Does she know you're dating Barry, and vice versa?"

"Of course. Where do you think I was all day today? I was teaching them some tricks only a rich playboy would know."

"Oh, what I would pay to see that. Not." Dick snickered. 

"Atleast I don't have to pay for anything."

Dick's grin went slack and his eyes widened in faux wonder. "Did he just..." He let out a single burst of laughter. "Make a prostitution joke?"

"No, I made a pornography joke. You wouldn't get laid even if you had paid for it."

"Wow, you're using modern terms to make yourself sound younger. Tell me, how many Viagra pills did you use to get you through the ten minutes with Barry and Iris?"

A certain amount of healthy banter between the two prepares them for the witty comments and double entendres they must use for their villains- what's the fun of fighting crime if you can't be funny while wearing spandex and kevlar?

"More than it would take you if you keep on that line of questioning." Bruce says. 

"Oh, you wound me!" Dick days over dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. 

"If you make any more jokes about my love life, I plan to."

Dick laughs again as he stands. "I'm going to stay in tonight, I need sleep. Big chemistry test tomorrow that I'm not going to fail."

Bruce nodded, accepting his words. 

Dick almost felt bad for lying, but wanted to laugh at his mentor for not realizing that it was summer vacation. 

Almost. 

He makes his way out of the kitchen and turns right to go down to the one room he's not allowed, then enter the much smaller room besides it. It had been originally intended for a servant or an infant, but there is a faintly vibrating ginger on it. Dick sits down on the corner of the bed and the other watches him do so. 

"Yourebackyoucameback" He says. 

Dick nods. "I did. I always will." On a whim, he reaches down and runs a hand through Wally's hair, smiling when the speedster leans into his touch. 

"Alfredmademesoupilikealfredhemakesmefeelsafe" Dick smiles at that. 

"Yeah, Alfred has that effect on people. Would you rather me sleep  in here with you, or will you be fine?"

Wally shrugged. "StayuntilIsleepthencomebackintwohours."

"Two hours?"

"Nightmare"

Dick bites his lip to refrain from accidentally making a very upset noise. 

"I'll be here in two minutes if you promise to stay in here tomorrow morning until I say it's okay to come out- I haven't told Batman you're staying yet, and I would like to avoid that inquisition until you're in the safe place."

Wally nods and Dick notices his eyelids drooping in the darkness of the small room. 

"Sleep now, it'll all be fine."

"Thankyou" The speedster murmurs, and Dick almost doesn't catch it. His eyes get wet with tears that he had to blink away, and he thinks about gross things- like Bruce having sex- to block the sad thoughts. Soon he is shuddering in disgust rather than distress, and the speedster is snoring lightly. 

As he stands and stretches, a yawn attacks, leaving him very ready to go pass out for a few hours before groggily getting up to take care of his- he glances at the speedster. He wants to think ward, but Wally is older than him. Um... Charge?

Another yawn, another sudden realization that he doesn't care what he calls Wally as long as he goes and falls asleep right fucking now. 

CHAP 4

"Hello Mr. Grayson, thank you for coming in today." A nervous looking man with sweat running down his temple greets Dick at the door with a handshake. Dick nods and smiles, before being ushered into a seat. The suit he's donned for the occasion is nice, because wants to make a good impression on the owner of the apartment building he wants to situate Wally in. It's in the nice part of town, and high enough up that people would be discouraged to come in through the windows (unless they were Dick) though low enough down that it wouldn't be in danger of a penthouse explosion. 

"Let's get to business." He said once he was seated as he fixed his tie. 

Across from him, Mr. Price and Mr. Heaton nodded. Mr. Heaton opened up a binder, and slid it across the table to Dick. He pointed at three places on a blueprint as he spoke. "We have three apartments open for renting, the penthouse suite, a level ten, and a level sixteen. I would suggest the penthouse suite for yourself, since it is the most lavish and-"

"I have surveyed each available room already, Mr. Heaton. I would like the level sixteen apartment."

"Are you sure? It is not nearly the quality of the penthouse-"

"I am not looking to buy the penthouse suite because the penthouse is a target for robberies more time than not. However you protect the building, the penthouse is always attacked. I spoke to the tenth level's tenants and decided that they are not the company I wish to keep. Level sixteen has much more pleasant neighbors, being a mousy old woman who likes to bake and has a litter of kittens to which I've already been promised, and a young couple who go out of town more often than not. I know what I would like, Mr. Heaton, do not argue with me on this matter."

He nods, and Mr. Price slides a stack of papers to Dick. His own lawyer, Mr. Corey, takes them and shows Dick where to sign. 

When he leaves the room with Mr. Corey, he has secured the perfect place for the speedster in his care. And, since it's only a few blocks from his own school, he'd have a good excuse to be there as well. 

Everything was going well, now all he needed to do was go make several copies of the key (two for Wally, one to hide outside the front door, two for Dick) and take Wally shopping. 

Oh, and hope Bruce didn't question why there were so many charges on the card he'd given to his ward this month. 

The drive back to the manor to retrieve Wally is fun, because Dick is driving alone and he's the one picking all the songs. 

Hm... That reminds him, he's  going to need to get the speedster a cell phone. Otherwise, without a way to contact Dick, what's the point of any of this?

When he gets to the manor, Alfred is there with a tray of tea and three oatmeal raisin cookies. Dick takes them, and the tea, and breathes deeply, letting the warmth flow through him. 

"Thank you, Alfred. Is Wally here now?" He asks as if the speedster has anywhere else he could possibly be. 

"Yes, Master Dick. Master Wally is in the kitchen, eating lunch. I took the liberty of giving him a shirt, pair of underwear, and pair of jeans from your closet, I hope you don't mind. I am currently washing the outfit he came here in."

Dick nods gratefully before starting towards his room. "I'll change first." He announces, though there's really no need to. 

The suit goes into the hamper, and a fresh shirt, pair of jeans, and leather jacket replace it. He's rather fond of that jacket, since it was a birthday present from Roy last year. 

Dick is just finishing up the last cookie when he comes into the kitchen, and Wally is halfway through a bowl of tomato soup and 3/4 of the way through a cheese sandwich. Wally cranes his head to look at Dick when he comes into the room, and Dick rests a hand on his back reassuringly. 

It doesn't dawn on him that he's making the same gesture of kindness that Bruce did the night before. 

Wally swallows and smiles, then pokes Dick's stomach. "Areyougoingtoeat? Howdidthingsgo?"

"They went well. Mr. Heaton tried to insist on the penthouse, but I declined. We now have a safe place, all we need is to go get things for it." He smiles down at Wally, who begins to bounce up and down in excitement. 

"Yougotthesafeplace?" Wally says excitedly. The day before, they'd gone to Heaton Towers, and talked to the tenants on the floor of each open apartment. Dick hadn't particularly liked the tenth level patrons, and Wally had liked them even less, but the sixteenth floor was perfect. There were two free on that one, and the young couple weren't there, so they only spoke to the old woman. She was lovely, dear old Mrs. Garcia. The cake she'd insisted on giving them rivaled Alfred's cooking in flavor, and the cats were all very well behaved. Wally had fallen in love with a small, extremely fluffy black cat with blue eyes, while Dick couldn't stop petting the ginger brother of the first cat, and couldn't stop staring into its green eyes. 

Mrs. Garcia told them that those cats were theirs, wether they moved into the apartment or not, but obviously they chose to move in. 

Well, Wally would. Dick would be there often, to check up on him and do homework, but he probably wouldn't live there. 

Yet. 

Wally finishes eating, then stands, and Dick realizes that the other needs a pair of shoes to go out shopping. 

But, like usual, Alfred is two steps ahead of the pair and hands the speedster a pair of Bruce's old flip flops. Dick had small feet, like a dancer, so it didn't surprise him that none of his own choices fit Wally. Not surprising in the slightest. 

They leave in Bruce's royce, which he hadn't touched since being gifted a Ferrari. 

Seriously, rich people. Dick can hardly fathom using more than the motorcycle and a car, let alone Bruce having twenty six cars. 

The drive takes forty minutes, as Dick knows already. Wally still looks small in the seat next to him, and it's mostly quiet as they go down the winding road. 

"Thankyou" Dick hears besides him when thy reach town. 

He glances over and nods. "Thank you for letting me help you."

Wally merely hums in response and looks out the window. 

-

They make it to the apartment building and park the Royce in the garage under the building. Then they walk out onto the street, fully intending to go on a shopping spree like no other. 

After a rocky start, the pair find it much easier. They move in sync, buying and agreeing and disagreeing an trying. But the best part is the sense of accomplishment. Furniture, clothing, pillows, and food. Several thousand dollars worth of it. Dick is proud of himself, and of his friend's- he feels comfortable saying that now- abilities. The apartment is now filled with boxes and bags, and Dick is taking the appropriate last ten minutes to set the fridge up before collapsing with Wally on the burgundy couch in the living room. 

They haven't any food yet, but they don't need it. They ate earlier, and are much more likely to just sleep-

Oh. Yep. Wally is snoring lightly. 

Dick's eyes burn from strain and effort as he finishes setting the fridge up, and involuntarily finds himself slumping to the floor against the kitchen's marble-covered island. He's so tired...

There is a vague noise as his head hits the chilled tile. 

CHAP 5

"Dick." Bruce's tone is hard, a sure sign that he is not in a pleasant mood. Dick swallows and turns around in the batcave's computer chair. He'd really thought he'd have more time. 

"Bruce." He replies, but the effect is diminished by the waver in his voice due to nerves. 

"You know I do not question much but why did my lawyer just call me and tell me that the contracts used to buy an apartment just went through?" His eyes are watering, and Dick can see the hurt all too well. "And why did you lie to me the other night about today being a school day?"

"I was doing something that I didn't want to talk about. I was helping someone get set up so that they wouldn't get back in a bad situation. I saved him a few days ago, and I can't let him go back to that place Bruce. And it's close to the school so that if I don't have time to come here I can crash there- I'm sorry that I lied and I know I shouldn't but you can understand why I did, right?"

Bruce sighs and nods. "Yes. But don't for one minute think you're getting out of me meeting this kid." He all but playfully growls the last part out, and Dick nods. 

"Yes sir. Now, ready to patrol?" Dick smiles, already knowing the answer as Bruce strips to put on the black costume. 

As he's already all of the way into his own costume, he merely stands and waits for Bruce. It doesn't take long, since they're both used to the routine.

Dick loves the taste of the night air on his tongue, the feel of Gotham's filthy night as it hugs him, keeps him safe from prying eyes as he punches a goon in the throat. He then pushes him into a pipe, grinning. "Where is your leader?" He hisses. 

"D-down the hall" The man squeaks. Dick spams his head back into the Pipe, knocking him out, and heads down the hall. 

"I've got the boss." He says into his comm as he pulls out his escrima sticks and quickens his pace. 

A goon is facing the wrong way, and Dick easily beats him down, just in time for a pair to rush him. 

One ducks as Dick swings at him, and the other parries the blow. The first grabs his ankles, bringing Dick down. He hits the second as he tries to come down on Dick, then kicks violently to get the first off of his legs. He hisses as a knife is plunged into his thigh, but keeps fighting until they're unconscious and his breathing is labored from effort. 

It hurts. It fucking hurts a lot. Shitshitshit! He didn't need this hindrance, didn't need to be weak. He needed to be strong, to be there for Bruce and Wally. 

There's a lot of blood flowing from the wound, and Dick is trying to get up like a fucking idiot but ithurtsithurtsithurts makeitstop 

His leg gives out under him and his vision swims as a goon attacks him. 

Oh no. 

CHAP 6

Due to the leg injury, Dick is out of commission for a month or so. He wasn't happy to hear that, so now all he can do is hang out with Wally and prepare him for meeting Bruce. 

"Bruce can't know you're a speedster yet." He finally admitted after they'd settled down. His cat immediately came to rest in his lap, arching his head into Dick's hand. 

"Doeshehatemetas?"

"No, he doesn't hate metas, he just... I don't want him to know who you are because then he'd get mad at me and this safe place might not be so safe anymore."

Wally shuddered at the thought before nodding. "HowdowekeephimfromknowingwhatIam?"

"I was thinking we could start off with your voice." He admitted, bringing the cat even closer to him. 

"Myvoice?" the speedster asked, taken aback. 

"Well, your words. You talk too fast, and don't get me wrong I'm okay with it, but it would make a lot of things easier."

Wally nodded. "HowdoIsloww down?"

"Try to breathe slowly- no, try to match your breath with mine."

The speedster nodded again and opened his mouth so he could do it. A minute or so later he smiled nervously before speaking. " Iss thisbetter?"

"Much! Say something else."

"The old ladyis avoid cook." 

"Again?"

"Thecouple came back."

"One more?"

"Your hair ismessy."

-

Damian's Acquaintances

"Friends/Family"

Jules

Jules is his mothers old friend, and is a very sassy sixty year old woman. She is Jewish and black and widowed from a loving husband, with one daughter. Jules took it upon herself to use her sewing and computer skills to take care of Damian while he saves others. 

Hannah

Jules' daughter, Muslim girl of loose faith. She is also good with computers but is much better doing non hero things. She cares deeply about Dami and considers him to be like a brother. 

-

*Villains*

Spectrum (Emma 

Mute villain girl with intense synesthesia in the form of seeing words and sounds, likes to take the words to try and use them somehow. Parents couldn't handle her abilities, so they sent her away to an orphanage. She terrorized the children around her until the orphanage cast her out into the streets, where she then had to make her own living through various vices. Prostitution seemed the only option, so she did, and the men liked that she didn't scream.   
After several years one takes it too far, so she takes his voice, causing him to go deaf in the process. Realizing what her ability can do, she begins a series of robberies and general power-grabbing where few can stop her. After meeting her respective hero, she temporarily steals his voice but returns it after realizing how much fun her life will be.  
She does not have the most stable mentality, due to the emotional after effects of her childhood, but she is not completely unstable, and can be reasoned with. Emma merely wishes to further her survival and make things better, and will go to many lengths to make this happen. 

(Clara Campbell) 

-

HOW TO GET OUT OF TICKET  
-cry  
-say you're from out of town  
-be embarrassed and pretend you have to take a dump  
-pretend you didn't know how fast you were going  
-lying speedometer  
-blame job  
-be honest

Smash hit is the game you love

Vamp academy cd  
123 auto cad = open source gif making software 

Too close- Alex Clare  
Revolving Door  
Waves- sleeper agent  
Best of times- Sheryl crow

Watch chasing life

The last ship trailer-- get the song from it bc it's good

Pentatonix coca cola commercial

Temporary happiness isn't worth long term pain 

-

Craft Beers Story 

Characters:  
-Angry Orchard-  
-Curious Traveler  
-Goose Island  
-Hoe Gaarden  
-Kona Big Wave  
-Leffe Blonde  
-Shock Top  
-Magic Hat  
-Red Hook Longhammer-  
-Rogue Dead Guy  
-Sam Adam's Boston Lager  
-Sam Adam's Rebel  
-Sea Dog Blue Paw  
-Duke's Cold Nose

Characters in a bar in a beat down, dying town, plotting how to revive their town. They don't use their real names because all but Curious Traveler are murderers. Kona Big Wave is from Hawaii, Duke's Cold Nose is from the mountains, and Red Hook Longhammer is a fisher from Rhode Island. The story takes place at two in the morning, and the bar is named "Bat Out Of Hell" because it's a racing club. The revitalizing activity they are planning is a drag race around town that ends at the bar, and whoever comes in last dies. Everyone cheats except Goose Island and Curious Traveler, and the club goes by the slogan "Nice Guys Finish Last". 

-

If one were to enter the bar "Bat Out Of Hell" at two am on that dry thursday's early morning in a Georgian July, they'd find an assortment of patrons that looked as different as night and day, yet all of them bore similar motivations. 

The town was in dour need of revitalization. It was beat down, with few people and even less income. Theirs was a hard task, and one they took upon themselves. They would bring some life into the town. 

Yet they also did not share their names among themselves, for doing so would be too reckless. They trusted each other to a point, and that point did not include their life stories. Everyone is entitled to their own secrets, and hopefully reviving the town would bury those secrets, eternally lock away the skeletons in their respective closets.

The bar tender is the only one not contributing to the Committee's- and that is their chosen name- task. He has shared his name through the default that is his name tag, and it is Robert. 

"Rob, can I get another shot?" Red Hook Longhammer says from his seat at the long bar, besides his companions. The drink is given to him, and he slides his money back to Robert. Red Hook Longhammer is from Rhode Island, and is a rather large man. He has a head of curly brown hair, and a thick beard dangling from his chin. His mouth is mostly obscured by a thick mustache, and his large arms are hidden similarly by his red plaid shirt. He wears a wedding ring, but no one asks about whomever he has married. They don't care, really. 

To his left is Angry Orchard, a petite blonde woman who smells strongly of apples and cinnamon, as if she was constantly surrounded by apple pies and sweets. She has a smattering of freckles and a farmer's tan that is shown off by her shorts and tank top. She orders another bottle of rum, and when it comes she adds it to a new jug of apple cider. She is attractive, but her scars tell a story different from her sweet smile. 

To her left is Kona Big Wave, a tall, golden skinned man from an island he doesn't name in Hawaii. He has a large smile and 

-

 

Chip Off The Old Block

-

There are a set of characters in Farscape an one is evil the other is neutral good and they have faux versions of each other in their heads why do I want to write a dc version of this with Jason and the joker

-

Every blow of the crowbar against his body sends a shock of pain through Jason. He can't think, can't do anything but groan and struggle to breathe through the blood that is filling his lungs, drowning him slowly. 

The Joker is babbling on above him, and Jason is glad he can't understand him through the roaring in his ears.

But then the man is leaving, and he thinks *this is it this is my chance* and he struggles to get to the door. 

When he reaches the door, it opens, and the Joker is there again, and he presses a menacing looking item to Jason's neck before pressing the trigger. 

Everything goes dark momentarily, and when he comes to, he is back in the warehouse, leaning against the door, watching a timer click down to zero. 

It wasn't supposed to end like this. 

-

PainpainpainpainnononoeverythinghurtswhatshappeningwhodidthisnononononononononONONONO

-

He's alive. 

-

After days of getting as far from Ra's Al Ghul as possible, Jason finally stops walking. 

The bandages that had been wrapped around his feet had worn away after a day and a half of walking, and the skin had torn and blood had flown freely from the wounds after several more of walking, running, stumbling across rough terrain. 

The ones around his neck and face were torn off as soon as he was coherent enough to realize they were there, while the ones around his arms and wrists were utilized to make a belt to carry berries with as soon as he could understand what hunger was again. 

He kept the ones on his hands only because they were just as damaged as his feet from all the action. 

But then he was too exhausted to keep going, and he collapsed at a stream, his face half in it and one arm dangling limply into the chilling flow. 

It is much warmer here than he remembered the surrounding areas to be, and he vaguely wonders how long he was dead. 

Yes. Dead. He had been dead. The Joker had beaten him and shot him and blown him up, and Bruce hadn't saved him. 

He didn't care about that. Bruce couldn't do everything, he needed people like Jason and Dick to help him save people in situations like Jason had been in. It was a lose-lose situation when only one half of the dynamic duo was working, it was the axiom Jason was accustomed to. 

So, as long as Bruce didn't let his grief consume him- Dick wouldn't let that happen- and he avenged Jason, all would be forgiven. It already was. 

The chilled water against his face reminds him of the pain and grime the rest of his body bears, so he moves so that he is on his back in the stream, the water welling up and gurgling past its new obstacle. 

Through his half-mast eyes he can see how the late afternoon sun peppers through the thick covering of bare branches, and feel the warmth of the light against his skin. 

It's the most gentle thing he's felt in a while, and it lulls him into a sense of security that he doesn't want to be false, and he lets his exhaustion take him. 

-

When Jason wakes again, the sun is still warm and his muscles ache a thousand times more than they did the last time he was conscious, probably a day or so ago. 

He supposed that's a good thing, that he's not numb. That he's not dead. But it still hurts like hell and he wishes it could maybe hurt a little less so he could sit up, if he wasn't able to go back to sleep at the moment. 

There is a strong breeze when he finally manages to sit up, threatening to knock him down. His bones creak in protest from inactivity- he must have been asleep longer than he thought- and his heart is still beating too fast, as if it's trying to make up for lost time. He understands the sentiment, and as soon as he's strong enough, he'll be right back in Gotham, rejoining Bruce and Dick.

Well, not as Robin. This was too much to bounce back from, and he'd been close to being good enough to separate from Bruce before Sarajevo. Now all that he had left open when he came home was a bed that was too soft to comfortably sleep on, even after all these years, and his place in the family. 

He missed them. Dick, and his dumb golden boy humor, Bruce, with his abrupt personality changes depending on how he was dressed, and Alfred, with his smiles and gentle hands. They'd been good to him, treated him the way he hadn't been treated before he stole the Batmobile's tires. 

Fuck, he'd been such a dumb kid. How had he not recognized whose car it was, and how had he not thought he'd get caught? But the kicker of it all, why had Bruce decided to keep him, rather than leave him to rot in crime alley?

He'd never know because he's certainly never going to ask. He hadn't back when he'd had a chance, and now he knew he would never let himself ask. 

He decided he could live without knowing as he fumbled with his belt for some of the blackberries he'd found. His hands were covered in cuts and nearly all of them still had the thorns inside the wounds, but he wasn't currently able to do anything with his hand as specific as removing them. He was lucky not to drop the berries, was astonished he'd managed to tie a simple knot. 

The sweet, dark, full flavor of the blackberries does wonders for him. He knows, somewhere in his tired brain, that he can't continue like this, he needs some serious recuperation and enough food to do it. In some ways, he'd have been better off at Ra's Al Ghul's mountain fortress. But in other ways, he knew that this was all he'd have coming to him for a long time, unless he found a town. 

The idea that Jason might die a second time before he gets to see Bruce and Dick again makes him swallow back tears. It would be just his luck, right? Just his luck. He must have used it all up in those years where he was Robin. 

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't okay with that. 

-

It isn't until several days later that Jason is rested enough to walk again, and several more before his feet are healed enough to walk upon. 

He needs to find a town, soon. 

Each step is agony incarnate, and he can say that because hey, he's died, you'd figure he'd know what pain is. 

It's not long before he unwraps the bandages on his chest to use on his feet. It helps. 

-

After a week more of walking, he finds a large, crashing river and then, after going along its side for a while, a bridge and, more importantly, a road. 

It's an empty road, but it's more than what he's been having so far.

So he takes a minute to drink some river water before going up to the road and sitting on the bridge's concrete rail. 

He glances up, and finds that there is no sun in the sky, only a mass of thick, rolling storm clouds coming in. The thought of rain doesn't upset him, it makes a thin smile come to his dirt-smeared face. 

Jason reaches into the makeshift belt for the last berries, and finds that there are only three. 

He hopes someone will come soon. He may not have relied on anyone completely in over a decade, but now he needed a place to sleep and food and a way to get back to his family, and he'd honestly do anything for it. Whatever that person asked of him, as long as he was promised that return to Bruce and Dick and Alfred, he would do it, no matter how likely he'd be to do it in another situation. 

This situation was, in fact, painfully unique. He had been dead and now he wasn't. He needed someone to help him get better, get well enough to go home. 

The tree branches rustle in the breeze, and he glances up again. 

A few small drops are falling from the sky, and they feel good on his skin. Their wetness is calming, and Jason makes sure to take several long, deep breaths. A flash of light nearby and a thunderous boom, and he's closing his eyes. 

He remembers what had happened before he died, once again. One thing still haunts him, the one puzzle piece he's missing. 

What had the Joker injected him with? Why had the man done that, just to kill him right after? 

He struggles to push the thoughts from his mind. Joker is a madman, nothing he does is sensical. 

So why does this one thing keep bugging him, why can't he forget the gleam of the man's eyes and the way his hair was styled as he beat Jason before throwing him to his death?

There is a new sound, much quieter than the thunder, coming closer, and Jay opens his eyes to look at it as something unimaginable happens. 

Suddenly everything is light and pain and it hurtshurtshurts 

-

Jason wakes in a pale, soft thing that feels like a bed but is too good to be that. His eyes are shut tight, and he doesn't feel like opening them yet. This is nice. He hurts all over, yes, but there is a *chance* of him being saved, and he can't remember for the life of him what made him hurt so much. 

Something touches him and he jumps, eyes flying open, but there's something in front of his eyes- something on them- and he can't see!

A test on his other limbs proves that his wrists are bound, and his legs the same. It isn't uncomfortable though, it's just disconcerting. 

"Keep still, young one."

The sound of an actual human's voice makes Jason whimper in relief. He recognizes that the voice belongs to an old woman, which is comfortable in the same sense that it is not. 

When elderly women tie you to beds, something is usually wrong with you. 

"What happened to me?" Jason asks, voice rasping and cracked. Something is pressed to his lips and he opens up as cool liquid flows in slowly. 

Then the water pulled away, and the blindfold follows. 

It's not that bright in the room, but it still takes a while for his eyes to adjust. 

The woman is dark skinned, and she's wearing a hijab. A few wiry gray hairs poke out from under the layers of violet fabric piled on her head, and she has a huge smile trained on Jason. 

"Good morning, young one. You are recovering from a lighting strike injury."

What the fuck?

"Excuse me?"

"By an unimaginable stroke of bad luck, one of my grandsons watched you get hit by lightning. He brought you here, to me last night."

"I got hit by... lightning?"

"Yes."

A laugh bubbled up to his lips. "That was a better stroke of luck than you'd think."

"How so?"

"Well, a few weeks ago I was dead."

Her eyes narrowed and a mischievous smile made its way onto her face. "There is much for us to speak about, young one."

"Yes ma'am."

She turned and left the room after administering medication. Jason was once again left with his thoughts, was able to silently rejoice and send a prayer up to the deity that must have been watching over him. 

He ignores the ghost of maniacal laughter echoing around himself, chalking it up to wind and air vents and his own paranoia. 

-

 

"Hello, this is Heather speaking."

"Heather help me I'm in a strange part of town, I don't know where, I have five percent battery on my phone, a quarter of tequila left, and young white men are calling me Mommy!"

"Holly slow down, it's three o clock in the afternoon-"

"Help me"

-

 

I AM ASHAMED OF MYSELF

Damian Wayne didn't normally masturbate, but when he did, people seemed to barge in and world crises seemed to multiply to the point where even the lowly Robin was needed to quell them.

It was very annoying, especially since he was a very closed off person about those matters- no matter what his mother had wished for him otherwise. When necessary in phone conversations with her, he simply blamed Bruce, and it worked like a charm, or, well, a charm that made his mother wish to yell at Bruce and take him back so that he could have the appropriate degree of privacy so that he could "properly take care of himself". He didn't need the release that much, but sometimes it seemed like an attractive prospect, until he remembers the league of assassins aspect of the deal. Well, that also seems attractive, but Bruce had worked hard to instill a sense of morale into him that would make him be less okay with murder and more okay with... Not murder? Damian doesn't really know what Bruce was going for there. 

Back to the more important part. Between sort of kind of liking the pain when fighting, and being atleast partially attracted to every tall, muscular, dark haired, blue-eyed man around him, and being a hormonal teenage boy, he constantly found himself with 'problems', as Dick had annoyingly and lovingly referred to them, that he was unable to deal with. 

It was the bane of his existence, and nothing had been as exhausting and frustrating as the flow of blood to his penis in the past six years of his life. 

But sometimes he just had to stop caring, so that's what Damian did. Stopped caring. 

He is on all fours on his bed, biting his lip as three fingers of one hand works itself in and out of his ass- he finds the motion pleasing, no matter how awkward it would be to ever actually partake in anal sex, how would he even ask for that?- and the other around his dick, pulling and stroking in a manner that is definitely hurried by arousal. 

He buries his face in the pillow as he pants, something akin to a whine building up in his throat. 

Then, of course, he hears his fucking door open. 

Damian doesn't look, he just whimpers and manages to say "G-go away Grays-son" into the pillow. 

The door closes again, and he sighs in relief, until a figure gets onto the bed behind him. 

Damian doesn't stop moving- cant stop moving, he needs this rightnow, but he doesn't look either. 

He doesn't want to know who is seeing him like this, because how would he look at them the same way?

A large hand rests on his right ass cheek and strokes the lower part of his hole, stretched around his hand. A shiver runs through Damian and he whimpers. 

What game is being played? Whoever it is cannot actually be considering aiding, can they?

But then that thumb works its way inside him and Damian can't think anymore because he's burying his face in the pillow and that feels nothing like when he does it *shhit*.

The man put a different finger in, slowly stretching Damian as his own hand falls away. The hand that had been wrapped around his dick falls away too, all focus now on how the man rubs and strokes and moves inside him. 

Another finger, and another whine is drawn from Damian. 

Then there is a sound that he cannot identify, a shift on the bed, and a rustle of fabric before the fingers pull out and- *oh*

Something foreign rubs up against his hole to a moment before it *fucking pushes in pleasepleaseplease* and Damian can't *think* it's so fucking nice he's gonna *cry* fuck. 

He might actually be crying, there are choked sobs of pleasure coming from him that he doesn't really bother to hide beyond the muffling of the pillow. He is too deep into this to care about what is thought about himself, because there is a *dick* in his *ass* and a hand curled protectively around his hip as the person moves inside of him. 

The person picks up the pace, moving faster inside the teen, and his grip tightens as the other hand joins it, firmly holding Damian and pulling him backwards to meet each thrust. 

Damian moans and moves his hand back up to wrap around his dick again, but several long fingers bat him away. They take his place, and *oh fuck that feels so nice please* he can't help but bury his face in the pillow as he moans embarrassingly loud. 

Damian finally cums, and his shoulders slump so that he can lie down as best as possible with someone still slamming rhythmically into his (slightly) sore ass. 

Then the person cums too, and Damian grunts in the realization that he will need to clean that up. 

The person behind him releases his hips, and Damian falls to the bed. 

He feels like a trip wire, an exposed bundle of wires. He's nervous and keyed up and sleepy and every time the man touches him now, the movements send the results of the tender touches caused by long fingers straight to his dick. 

Though Damian collapsed onto his side, he stubbornly refuses to open his eyes and look at the man as he pants for breath and tugs his blankets forwards. 

But the touches don't stop. They keep going, soft and sweet and too much on his sensitive body. By the time the man actually bends down to kiss him, he's panting for a completely different reason. 

"Damian" the man growls, hand curling protectively around his hip before kissing him again, but more urgently this time. 

The kiss deepens, and Damian shifts to lay on his back so that he can wrap his legs around the hips of the man while they kiss. 

He still doesn't open his eyes. He has a pretty good idea of who it may be, but he doesn't want to risk finding out that it... Is.

The mouth leaves his own to get at his throat, marking it and showing off to anyone the idea of "mineminemine" that was very clear here. 

Another moan of his name, and the man begins grinding his hips into Damian's ass. It is actually really nice, so he tightens his grip and makes an appreciative noise in return. 

-

Roxanne

You don't have to put on the red light  
Those days are over  
You don't have to sell your body to the night

Roxanne  
You don't have to wear that dress tonight  
Walk the streets of money  
You don't care if it's wrong or if it's right

Roxanne  
You don't have to put on the red light  
Roxanne  
You don't have to put on the red light

Roxanne (Put on the red light)  
Roxanne (Put on the red light)  
Roxanne (Put on the red light)  
Roxanne (Put on the red light)  
Roxanne (Put on the red light)  
Roxanne

I loved you since I knew you  
I wouldn't talk down to you  
I have you to tell just how I feel  
I won't share you with another boy

I know my mind is made up  
So put away your make up  
Told you once I won't tell you again  
It's a bad way

Roxanne  
You don't have to put on the red light  
Roxanne  
You don't have to put on the red light

Roxanne (Put on the red light)  
Roxanne (Put on the red light)  
Roxanne (Put on the red light)

 

-

 

"Jayce, please, you don't have to fucking do this." Roy pleaded to his friend over the phone. He'd called because he knew Jason would go out tonight, because he always went out on Fridays. "Come on man, let me help you. I know you need cash to pay Daya for child support, but there are other fucking ways to pay it. Don't do this, Jayce, don't."

"Roy, who said I'm going out tonight?" he asked, tone sugary sweet and a bit muffled due to the positioning of the phone between his ear and shoulder as he struggled to light a new cigarette. "Because I'm not."

"You're lying."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Shut up."

"Not until you stop this shit."

 "Roy, we all have our vices. Mine pays the bills, and lets me see my little girl. If binge drinking and heroin did that, I'd be all for joining your club. But they don't do shit, so I'm stuck with this."

"Jayce, fuck, you don't even like fucking people for cash! You're a goddamn romantic, you get off on the repartee! Pick something else, get a different job, become a librarian! Do something else, please."

"Roy, I am going to finish my cigarette, put on a pair of pants that you hate, and go make some money. If you have complaints, then fucking leave them at my machine. I'll delete them tomorrow, when I'm in the mood to not listen to them." he says, clicking the end button on his phone. It's nicer than anything else he owns, because his old adopted dad got it for him. He'd hock it, but the only thing that would accomplish is him having to put all the old contacts onto a new phone that Bruce would send. Well, it was probably Bruce. Maybe Tim? Alfred? He wasn't sure anymore, but then again, he also totally didn't give a shit anymore. As long as he could provide for his daughter, he was good. 

The pair of pants that Roy hates are skinny jeans. To tell the truth, Jason hates them too. They're red and make him position his dick weird, and he can't wear underwear when he wears the jeans because they show through, so he's forced to go commando and let everything hang free. It's uncomfortable as fuck, but the old men get off on his young looking face, on his cigarette stained breath, on his ass, squeezed into those ugly damn jeans. 

It takes ten fucking minutes to put them on. Ugh. 

Next is a shirt that will show off the goods (not really) but not be too intimidating. It's hard, trying to look like a schoolgirl in a wet dream and a pizza man dom in a bad porno, all at once. He never gets requests for anything inbetween, so Jay just has to cater to both demographics. 

So he went down the route that would make him simultaneously the most and least comfortable. He could switch between the two, depending on the other person. Confident, unsure. Cocky, shy. Whatever the customer wanted. 

And tonight his customers would want a black and white striped crop top, black choker, and his bulky leather jacket. It was early April, still cold as fuck in Blüdhaven, he'd need the fucking warmth. 

Only a few other adjustments are necessary. A tube of lube, a tube of lip balm, some condoms for the male demographic he catered to, a flask of whiskey for when he got too cold inside, and his ID. Feeling as ready as he could be, Jason heads out the door of his shitty apartment and heads down the street to the working girl's corner. 

He knew it, and the girls, well. 

"Jay! Hey, how've ya been? How's your daughter?" Carrie yells at him. The other girls turn and greet him, hands not leaving their places on their arms or in their pockets. 

"She's good, she's good. How's Donny? Still alive and bustin' your balls?"

"Don't ya know it." Miranda replies, voice muffled by a cigarette. Jason winces when he sees it, because he knows she wants to quit, and he does too, so they're stuck in the same boat. Just the warm puff of cigarette smoke makes his fingers itch, but he doesn't reach for it. 

"Ooh, look, fancy car!" Candy says, shuffling over to lean into the window. A few words are exchanged, and she waves at the group before leaving with the car. 

"Well, she'll be back happy." Sandy says, rolling her eyes. 

"And with a fat wad of cash." 

The group nods, happy for their friend but silently jealous. 

"So, Jayce, why ya wearin a crop top in this kinda weather?" Morello asks after a while of silence. 

"Same reason you're wearing a jean skirt and tights. It sells."

Two cars pull up, and she goes to one, while Sandy goes to the other. Morello beckons for Miranda to join her, and both cars leave. Then it's just Carrie, Jason, and Ruth. 

A new car pulls up, and Jason decides to take a turn and saunter up to it. There's a fifty-something man inside with pasty white skin an a bald head, and he's grinning at Jay. 

"You looking fo' some company?" Jay asks, sickly sweet tone back and a coy smile on his face. 

"I am. Tell me, how tight is your ass tonight, slut?" 

This is not the kind of witty repartee that gets Jason into his happy place, but he has to pretend it is. He's learned the ways of this job. 

"I ain't had nobody else in weeks, I'm tight for you baby." A hand reaches out of the car and cups his ass, squeezing. 

"Get in, I want to fuck you so hard you come without me touching you. I have big plans for you tonight, princess."

Jason pulls out of his grip and rounds the car, waving at the girls. He has to get fucked by that slob? It's sure to be a horrible experience. But hey, he wants to get paid. 

The ride is uncomfortable, because the guy keeps rubbing up and down his leg,

-

-Vodka tonic with ginger and mint  
-cranberry tea

-

 

Sparkling Cider (male)  
Bitter Berry (female)  
Crispin (male)

Winging It

Crispin had been working at this bar for three years now. He had plans to open his own eventually, but for now was content to work under another pony. As he mixed a drink for an old patron, Donut Joe, he noticed a couple newcomers sit at his bar. 

"What can I get you fine gentleponies this evening?" He asked, as his magic poured the concoction into Joe's cup.

Bitter Berry hadn't wanted to come out tonight. She was tired from working, and her wings positively *ached* from flying around moving casks full of her delicious wines all day. But of course, Sparkling Cider, who had taken the day to sample his spirits, had declared that they were heading out to a *bar* of all places! She hadn't been to one in so long- what was the point? Berry preferred wines, and she made the best wine. Nothing else to it. 

But here she was, sitting in front of a bar counter with aching wings, a tired mouth, and a negative outlook on the evening. Well, and a cute barkeep. "What do you recommend?" She hears Cider ask.

"Well, I make all the cider so I have a bit of a bias. Though the beers are alright, if you're into that. Our wine selection isn't too terrible, and I can mix a few up for you if you'd like to sample"

Berry stared at her cousin as he excitedly asked for cider. In her opinion, cider was *okay*. If she had nothing else to drink, it would do. 

"Ba ba barkeep, have you a decent vintage?" she asks, tone straight. Cider bumps into her pointedly, so she glares at him. "I mean, do you have a decent vintage?"

He blinks, and gives her an amused smile. "Yes, ma'am, Yes ma'am, 3 decades worth"

She smiles tiredly. "That's what I'm talking about. Give me red wine, aged atleast twenty years. I don't care about the name on the bottle."

He grins. "I've got two bottles with your name on 'em. would you like 38 or 29?"

"Start me off with the 29, I'll work my way up to the 38." she said, leaning on her brother's shoulder. "Are you an alicorn? Because you have just what I need right now."

He laughed. "Sorry love, I flunked out of magic school before I got that far. Good thing I hit the bottle, though. I could've done something productive with my life, the horror." He levitates a slightly dusty bottle out from above him somewhere, and gently unscrews the cork. Pulling a wineglass down by hoof, he pours some into the bottle and lets it air before handing it to her. He smiles a little. "So how're you liking my cider, sir? It up to grade?" He didn't have any other patrons at the moment, since Joe had left moments before with a few bits as tip.

Cider nodded, setting the mug down. "I make cider for a living, and this is just as good as one a my own." he grins. 

"I make wine," Berry starts, pausing to sniff the wine and sigh happily before taking a healthy sip of it. She doesn't actually continue, she just kind of moans into her glass and takes another sip.

Crispin grins. "Well I'll be. That's a mighty fine compliment, sir." He bows low. "I may not have had a hand in making the wine but i'll take the compliment anyway" He adds with a wink. 

"Don't compliment him, he'll take it and run with it. Seriously, look at Cider's huge head." Berry gestures at his head, and he gives her an "ex-fucking-scuse me" look.

As Crispin is about to respond, he's tapped on the shoulder. "Your shift's up. Boss says to either get on the dance floor or get back into the kitchen to make more cider"

He snorts and moves to sit next to the wine-Pegasus(whose name he should ask for) in defiance.

Berry glances at him, then at the pony in front of them. "How are things on this side of the counter?" she asks.

"Less cramped, for one. 'nd I don't have ta carefully 'nunciate everythin' anymore. Boss gets pissy when I don't 'speak clearly'"

She nods empathetically. "And you get to sit, how often did you do that on the other side? You're a free stallion now," she realizes she doesn't actually know his name, and pauses, looking at him expectantly.

He snorts. "Not often enough. Where're my manners? I'm Crispin. And who do I have the pleasure of spending my time off with?"

Berry starts to open her mouth to introduce herself, but Cider cuts in. "That ball of sarcasm is Bitter Berry, and I am Sparkling Cider." he smiles coyly. "May I invite you to try my cider sometime?"

Crispin grins. "I wouldn't mind at all. My schedule is a little hectic, it being Cider Season, afterall, and even if we aren't a hub like some towns my wares sell at an alarmingly fast rate, given the time it takes to ferment them"

"I know exactly what you mean!" Berry gasps. "Personally I refuse to sell a bottle under three years of age, so I have to just make as much as I can and hope for the best!" she sips at the glass in hoof again.

"Cider's even worse than wine, in that respect. The process starts with making juice, in my case apple juice, and then letting it ferment until it's naturally alcoholic. That can take anywhere from weeks to months, and the best cider is aged at least a year or two"

"So it takes roughly three years for you too?"

Crispin nods, laughing quietly. "And if we run out during the season boss says to mix the juice with beer. Beer! I can't even stand the thought."

Berry wrinkled her nose and Cider gagged. "How could they ask such a thing?" he groans, trying not to think about it. 

Berry wrinkled her nose and Cider gagged. "How could they ask such a thing?" he groans, trying not to think about it. 

Crispin's head thunks onto the bar, and a glass is placed in front of him. The barkeep nods at a bottle, one of Crispin's, at least 4 years old, and he chugs it. He's not drunk enough for this.

Berry went to take a healthy gulp of her wine, but found her glass empty! She frowned and set it down, motioning for Crispin's replacement to come near. "I'll have a glass of the 38 vintage, thank you dear." she ended with a smile. "As for you, Crispin, that was a fantastic glass. Thank you."

Crispin grinned. "My pleasure, milady" He bows, pouring more of the cider into his own glass.

The filly behind the counter pours the glass of wine, and Berry states at it, smiling warmly. She sighs happily, sniffing the glass and generally admiring the wine without drinking it. Cider leans around her to whisper "can you tell she likes wine?"

"I know the feel, wine is an experience. If I could grow grapes worth a damn I'd try to make it"

When she finally takes that sip, she leans her head against her cousin's and sighs happily. "That's what I'm talking about."

Crispin snickers, and the barkeep blinks once. She turns toward another customer, and Crispin stretches, before taking another sip of cider. "Ahhhh"

"So, how did you land this gig?" Cider asks.

"Moved to town after my mom's inlaws kicked us outta the family. Something about not sticking to our roots?" He shrugs. "I had some of the first cider I'd made with me, when I ran into boss. He took a sip and hired on the spot. Been working here for three years now"

"I got my talent one Christmas with my mom, helping her make pear and peach cider. It was," he laughed. "Interesting. Berry got hers on a trip to Bitaly, helping some stallion out. We got together, bought some property, and started the business a few years ago."

"Cool. I've been thinking of opening my own bar, the locals love my cider and you should hear the praises they sing for my mixing, I just have to wait 'til I've got a more stable home, really."

Cider nodded. "If you ever need help with anything, we could always use help. B doesn't let anyone help her make her wines, and I could use some help too. If you need the extra bits, we got plenty." Berry glanced at him, but didn't say anything. 

"And infringe on your illustrious Cider business? Never" He grins a little, and stands up. "Well, I do have to head out back, we're probably getting low, so I'll see you two around?"

Berry nodded, while Cider grinned. "Of course, we'll be around." he says. 

Crispin nods, and disappears out the back. "Hey, Put their drinks on my tab, 'kay?"

"I want one." Berry whispered to her cousin.

"You don't even like Cider!" he replied.

"Don't tell me you don't want one, I can tell when you're lying."

"I never dsaid I didn't."

-

Dick's Transformation

It all started with Jason. God, Jason. The one Batman- *Bruce* didn't save. The first brother. 

When he died, Bruce almost broke. His morals. His heart. Everything. Almost broken, almost unable. But then Tim came to me, came to me with his *camera* and his matter-of-fact tone and his no nonsense straight face. He'd been, what, ten? Nine? Eleven? And he'd managed. 

Jason came back. He was alive, and that was the first time it had happened. He had been dead, but then he *wasn't* and he had every right to be in the family, and everyone was so happy he was home. 

Then Damian came. He was small, and he was loud, and he pushed Tim away from Bruce and he was just so damn *jealous* and so damn *strong* and then, then Bruce died. 

I took over then, I became Batman and I took that mantle, that cowl, and I took Damian under my wing because he deserved it, and because every Robin needs a Batman, every Robin needs their family and their older brothers and that's just how it works. 

Then Bruce came home. Tim said he would, but we, the rest of us, we had given up. Mourned. Been broken. And he was back and we were whole again. 

I don't think I ever really forgave him though. He, he, he wasn't *there* for us and he came back eventually but eventually is the only thing we had for so long, and, we deserve more than eventually. 

Then Damian died. 

And I knew he'd come back one day, but he was so great and he was *alone* when he died and no one deserves that and, and I just. Couldn't. 

I broke. 

I was done watching my family die, then come back to life. 

I'm done. Pick one and stick the fuck with it, or, or don't tell me anything because *I cannot fucking handle this anymore*. 

I tossed the mask off, didn't care about the consequence. My brothers didn't know where I'd gone, my friends either. I didn't care. I just felt damn great to be free. 

Time passed. A month, a year, I don't know how long. I had an eternity. Someone found me, found my eternity. He extended it, taught me to laugh with each tick of a clock, beat of a heart, tick of a bomb. He introduced me to his partner, and she let me in on every secret I would never have learned before. The method to her love's madness, if you will. 

They introduced me to their friends, their partners. I learned their quirks. The ticks of their inner clocks, how to wind them up and wind them down. 

Before I knew it, they were my friends too. 

I learned more about clocks. I became obsessed, I was always tinkering with one or another. My new friends joked that if I wasn't careful, I would become a clock. I didn't tell them that I already was, and that I had already ticked down to the last note. 

My friends came and went, they left, were sent to Arkham, broke out, and came home. I hadn't left home yet, so I kept it nice. 

Well, until Pam told me she had an idea for a collab. She would take over the broken clock tower in downtown Gotham, turn it into a beacon of writhing life and beauty. My job was to fix the clock, let Gotham know I was there. I would fix the clock, and wait for my old family to visit. 

Harley wasn't sure if I was ready yet. Ready to see them. She said it'd been three years since I last had. 

Nevertheless, she helped me prepare. I sewed an outfit with her aid, made some gadgets so I would not be taken unawares and captured. I knew what my old family used, and what worked best against what. 

While I worked, my friends came to me for advice on their weapons. What worked, what would work better, could I fix this or that?

It was nice. 

The day of the collab rolled around, and Harley kissed my cheek before I walked out. Pam had already started on the tower, so all I had to do was follow her forget-me-nots up to the clock. 

"Come on baby," I coo to it when I get there. "Show me your secrets, darling." 

All the clock needs before its gears begin turning again is a little coaxing, a little oil, and one replaced bolt. 

The clock lets out three resounding booms, almost in gratitude, I imagine. Three AM, apparently. I've been waiting for a while, with only the flowers to keep me company. 

A crash comes from somewhere outside of my niche. I'm not scared, merely curious. Will it be Bruce? Tim? Jason?

First I see a flash of red and black, then I see him. Red Robin, Timothy Drake. He's breathing hard, and there's a few cuts on his suit. From the plants, probably. 

When he sees me he. Stops. He can't breathe. He whispers "Dick?" and stares at me forever. 

He starts walking closer, but before he touches me I flick my wrist. A pocket watch on a thin chain wraps around his arm six or seven times, and he's confused. 

"You, you're alive?" he whispers. 

"I picked. You need to."

"What are you talking about?"

"Pick one. Alive or dead. I can't handle the switching."

"Dick, come on, you're not you. Come home-"

"I was just home. Wayne manor isn't home."

"It's always going to be home, Dick."

I narrow my eyes. "No. Stop calling me that."

"But that's your name-"

"No."

"Then what *do* I call you?"

"I don't care, think of something Red Robin."

Tim flinches as if I'd hit him, and I might as well have. Good. 

"Dick..."

"Times up, little bird." I say before pulling the pocket watch. His arm follows, and he grunts in surprise and pain. 

I stand and yank the chain, and he flips over. The chain doesn't break, because it's made of the strongest metal I could get my hands on. 

Tim stares up at me. He doesn't move, and I know that I could kill him now. Decide for him. 

"Tick tock, little bird. Your time is up and you've decided." I drop the chain. "Keep that clock, it'll do nicely if you put it next to the Riddler's case."

"Dick... Don't do this. Come home."

I ignore my brother as I turn to leave him there. 

-

 

Light it up- one republic   
Tori amos-(unrepentant geraldines)  
Melanie Martinez- dollhouse  
Ingrid Michaelson- girls chase boys  
50 ways to say goodbye-train

 

-

 

Threesome ?

Roy narrowed his eyes in confusion, and said "What?" very loudly, pinching Kyle's hip to try to wake him up- that is, presuming he is asleep. Otherwise this is very awkward.

"Bwuh?" Kyle sat up, rubbing his hip. "...Why'd you wake me?"

"Why are you dreaming about bedazzling dragons? I mean, I knew you were flamboyant like the rest of us but..." he trails off, looking at Kyle with this tired, amused look.

"I don't know? My dreams are weird. Sir Fancy-pants was a human knight, for one thing"

"Were me or Connor in it? Please tell me he was the princess."

"I think I was, actually? I was in a dress. I think you and him were princes from a neighboring kingdom, and Hal was the dragon"

Roy snorted. "A prank is coming to mind. We will require sixty-two tons of glitter, Jason, a dress in your size, and six garden gnomes."

"I think I can get the dress, and maybe the gnomes. Not sure about the glitter"

"I can get Jason, and Jason can get the glitter. Oh, and I also need to get out of these pants- did we do sexy stuff in the middle of the night or was that a dream?"

"There was probably a dream but you did wake me with your hard on"

Roy blushed. "Sorry, I know you were sleeping off a concussion."

Kyle shrugs. "I had fun, I don't mind"

"Wait, was Connor there too? Because if so then. Uh. The night was a lot more productive." He thinks back on the hazy situation he may have dreamt.

"Conn left before we went to sleep. He's definitely back on Earth and in the Queen manor by now"

"Okay, that explains a lot. Plus the dream may have happened near Jupiter? I don't know why I was hoping it was real."

Kyle shrugged. "I've fucked in space before, you'd be surprised how fun it is"

"But I can't do that, you know? For me it's a vague "that would be cool" thing."

"I can have it arranged"

Roy bites his lip. "When?"

-

 

Sleeping with a Stranger

Donovan had never thought he would be into the idea of blind dates. He still wasn't, if all truths were told, but this night sure was sure to be interesting. 

Cathy hadn't even told him the gender of who to expect when she set him up in a steak'n'shake, late Thursday evening. She knew that, since all of his income came from custom jobs on weddings and parties with costume design, he would have *all* of Friday free. He hadn't even been told that the dinner would be with someone who *wasn't* Cathy or her husband Fredric. 

So he sits, glaring at her as she sashays away to wait at the door for someone. She make a motion at him, making him turn from the direction of the door. 

Ugh. This was why he had trust issues, why he didn't even leave his house much. It wasn't not knowing the gender of the person who he would be meeting, it wasn't not knowing their name or their face, it was that he hadn't been warned. His hair was greasy, he was wearing a cyan scarf with *cat silhouettes* on it, a gray jacket with three missing buttons, and a graphic shirt under all that, with some text and a cute graphic of "cats being liquid". The only thing on his outfit that he was genuinely comfortable with were his jeans, which were old and comfortable and fit his ass just right. 

A black curl falls into his face, and Doni blows it up. His hair had been meticulously styled, because the effect of "white people hair" is incredibly hard to accomplish for a twenty-six year old Asian kid. Well, his age had nothing to do with it, but still. He'd only attempted this hairstyle for the past month, he didn't have it down yet. 

The waitress brings his mint-chocolate milkshake, and she grins at him. "Cathy told me who she's setting you up with, and trust me, I'm jealous."

Doni groans. "Atleast tell me the gender?"

"Ooh, there he comes." Marian leans against the table, smiling dreamily. When that someone reaches the table, he gives her a kiss on the cheek before asking, very sweetly, for an iced tea and a strawberry milkshake. 

Well, he's tall. Doni is tall too, but still. He's black, and Doni has no problem with that. He's attractive. He has a wide, round nose, and a huge, warm smile. His eye are the exact shade of green as the milkshake in the picture, with highlights of the real-life milkshake. The guy is wearing a flannel shirt over an Arctic Monkeys shirt, the one with the sound wave logo on it. He reaches across the table to offer Doni a hand, and smiles even wider- how is his mouth even that perfect?

"Hello, my name is Silas. Cathy told me nothing about you, except that we're perfect for each other."

Doni smiles back, and shakes his hand. "Sorry my hand is cold. Donovan, call me Doni if you want. Cathy and Fredric and Marian do."

Silas nods. "Got it, Doni. So, how do you know our little hijabi?" He glances at the door, but by the way he glances back, Doni can tell Cathy is no longer there. 

"I designed her wedding. She kept calling me. Yourself?"

"I was the third boyfriend who she helped discover the sexuality of."

Doni sips the milkshake. "Really?"

"Mhm. We kissed a few times, then she introduced me to her brother, and we were over. No hard feelings, even when her brother and I split."

Doni nods. "That makes sense. What do you do, jobwise? I'm a designer, in general. Custom work."

"I'm in construction." Silas admitted. "Once upon a time I wanted to be an architect, but that was before I flunked art school."

"I flunked art school too, they didn't like how nonspecific I was."

Silas grins. "We will get along perfectly. 

Doni smiles too. "I like to think that."

-

After they split the bill- Doni paid for Silas' meal, Silas paid for Doni's- the pair ended up heading back to Doni's place. His car is still in sore need of a visit to the shop, so Cathy had driven him to the restaurant. In retrospect, that does not seem wise on her part. 

When they get out and make it to the hallway leading to Doni's apartment, they get handsy. His hair is ruined the moment Silas threads his hands through it to pull him in for a deep, deep kiss, and Silas gets an armful of horny Asian young adult. 

And, Doni likes to think Silas likes it. He's shorter than him by a few inches, but it still counts when he has to pull the other's head down to press their lips together. 

Once inside, they shut the door and immediately Silas takes control, pushing Doni against it. He moans, and Silas nearly *rips* that cyan scarf to get to his neck. 

By the time they actually reach the bedroom, they are both half-dressed and moaning, pressing their bodies together like love struck teens. 

-

Six shows on ABC

Selfie (karen Gillian)  
Black-ish  
Forever  
Manhattan Love Story  
Cristella  
How to get away with murder

-

Calling All Crows. Or Bats. Whatever. 

-

Think calling all the crows by state radio sort of? It's just what I was listening to at the time so

-

Gotham is dark and dirty, smog and gray clouds rolling thickly overhead. nothing is clean there. The rain that falls from the sky is tainted, the harbor is damn near poison, and the people are mirrors of their once-beautiful city. The buildings are too tall, the city too crowded, and the people too desperate. 

It's sickening. They don't even know what they could have had as they squander their futures. 

Damian Wayne stares out at the city, the corner of his mouth upturned in a sneer. Once he'd fantasized about this city, dreamed of coming here. When he'd arrived, he'd been... Pleased. Disappointed. Daunted. Ready. 

Now he was just disgusted. 

His metal mask protects him from the smoke, from the poison of this place. He is crouched on that familiar gargoyle, yet it feels foreign under his gloved fingers. 

This is no longer his home. 

Standing, he makes sure his belt- that once-bright metal Robin belt- is tight on his hips, and steps over the edge of the gargoyle. 

He falls for a minute, then an arm wraps around his waist and he is pulled into- of all things- the batplane. 

"I don't advise jumping off of there." The bat says, but his voice is too young and unfamiliar. 

It's not Dick, or Jason, or Tim. It's definitely not Bruce, so who the fuck was under that mask?

" _Who the hell are you?_ " he spits out in Arabic, pulling the sword out and pressing it to the neck of the person who'd pulled him into the plane. 

Since he is behind the man, he cannot see his reaction, other than the stiffening of his shoulders. In front of him, the screen is speaking. A glance at it proves his suspicions. 

Bruce has grown old. 

" _Take me to Him, Imposter._ " He says, keeping the sword in place. The bat doesn't say a word, but Bruce relays the request to him. 

Good. 

It's not long before they're pulling into the cave, and Damian lets the bat out first. The new bat rubs his throat, where a rip in the fabric and a smear of blood are. 

Oh. Damian had done his best to be gentle, but he doesn't feel bad. He steps off the plane and onto the ground, and his eyes wander around the cave for a moment before fixing upon his father and the unknown man besides him. 

Damian pulls the metal mask off and slides it into his belt. The scarf stays in place though, it's ragged ends fluttering in the faint, chilled breeze that the cave always has. 

"Father."

Bruce's eyes do not light up in recognition, he does not gasp or step forwards. 

"I don't recall meeting you."

The words hit Damian like a truck, and the smile that had been tempting him turns into a frown. 

"I knew you were angry with me, but I did not imagine you would go so far." His voice is heavy with accent, and most of the words feel strange on his tongue. He just isn't used to English anymore, he guesses. 

"I'm not usually angry with people I've never met." Bruce replies. 

"Oh? Then you must simply not remember me."

"I have a pretty good memory."

"You must not, if you have forgotten something as recent as twenty years ago."

"Twenty years ago I removed the cowl, that's all that counts."

Damian's brow furrows. "You took off the cowl so soon after I died? Was it because of me?"

Bruce looks taken aback. "No. I had a heart attack."

Damian visibly flinches and nods. "Oh."

"Will you tell me your name? I might be able to put a name to a face if you give me an idea of who I should be remembering." Bruce adds on, as if attempting to amend the situation. He's changed so much, yet so little. 

"Damian Wayne, and before that, al Ghul."

Bruce's eyes widen at that, and the new bat, who had taken his mask off, whips around to stare at Damian in surprise. 

"Several years ago, Talia approached me, but I didn't speak with her. Were you the person of interest she mentioned?

"Tt, of course." He rolled his eyes. "She wanted to ask help on finding me."

"Finding you?"

"Yes. I am no longer interested in the league of assassins, or in ruling it."

"Wait- you would have ruled the league?" The new bat speaks up. 

"Yes, I am Talia's son and Ra's grandson. It is only right that I take the metaphorical throne."

"But you chose not to..."

"My younger brother will do fine, I am sure of it." His tone is clipped. "But," a smirk appears on his face as he pulls out the scimitar from earlier. "I do have my souvenirs."

"That's Curare's sword!"

"Yes, it is."

"You killed Curare?"

"Yes."

Bruce's eyes narrow. "You didn't have to kill her."

"I did not miss your morals, Father."

"Then I do not know why you are here."

Damian's eyes stung and he started to walk away. The dog- one of Titus' brood, obviously- follows him. 

"Where are you going?"

"My room."

"You have never lived here, why would you have a room?"

"I need to see for myself the room which I used to live in."

"You will be disappointed."

The new bat begins to follow him, but Bruce holds him back. 

"But he's killed people, Bruce!"

"He will not find anyone to harm up there."

Oh. So Alfred had perished? A shame, Alfred was fantastic. 

The stairs are tall and winding. It's annoying. He's used to 

-

 

Goals you don't pursue aren't goals...  
They're dreams. 

My songs know what you did in the dark lullaby

Lyme disease treatment  
-doxycycline 

Happy with me- holychild  
Make a shadow- meg Myers  
Dibby dibby sound  
Ruby- denez koyu  
No defense remix- noone  
Stargate- savant  
Work- jetfire  
Stakes- Vancouver sleep clinic  
I could love you more- the miracls  
Waiting for superman- daughtry  
Best day of my life- American authors  
At last- Etta James

-

 

Cummer Gardens: Evening Panoply  
John s bunker  
Watercolor, acrylic, mixed metallics

Nightfall of the Hangar  
Phillip Evergood  
Oil on canvas  
1937

The diving boy  
Augusta savage  
Bronze  
1939

Related to st Paul's: new York  
John Marin  
Oil on canvas  
1928

Railroad yard  
Reginald marsh  
Watercolor and graphite on paper  
1929

Parade to war allegory  
John steuart curry  
Oil on canvas  
1938

The visit  
Richard Emil miller  
Oil on canvas  
1907

Before her appearance  
Frederick carl frieseke  
Oil on canvas  
1913

Portrait of a lady  
Comte pietro rotari  
Oil on canvas  
1700s

Angels appearing to the shepherds  
Benjamin west  
Oil on panel  
1790

Baby Ruth  
Mel Ramos  
Color lithograph  
1981

Two reclining nudes  
Philip pearlstein  
Lithograph  
1971

Family ties/trying to imagine what heaven might say  
Kevin cole  
Copper and aluminum   
2006

Portrait of a gentleman  
Cornelis van der voort  
Oil on canvas  
1617

Still life with fruit and flowers  
Frans snyders  
Oil on panel  
1630

A bedtime story  
Seymour Joseph guy  
Oil on canvas  
1878

Rehearsal: dancer in violet  
Valeriy gridnev  
Oil on canvas  
2004

Portrait of a lady as evelina  
John hoppner  
Oil on canvas  
1789

Chartres cathedral  
Charles sheeler  
Watercolor  
1946

Goldfish  
Richard e miller  
Oil on canvas   
1912

Peonies, coral charm  
Mia tarney  
Oil on linen  
2013

 Girls in the window  
Ormond Gigli  
Chromogenic print mounted on dibond  
1960

-

Bad Dragon

Jason had officially been hit in the head one too many times. Or maybe it was one too few, he would like to be hit right about now. Preferably causing a concussion and memory loss. Anything to not remember the dragon guy.

Jason wasn't even really a fucking vigilante anymore for *exactly this damn reason*. Less weird shit when you surrounded yourself with age-appropriate drug addicts and people with criminal files thicker than most books he'd read.

It was like weird shit was a disease, and if you'd ever been in the bat family, you'd have caught that disease and you would have *liked it*. And, when it inevitably kidnapped and frisked you, you would get saved by Batman.

Except for Dick and Jason, Dick because they stopped frisking him and instead did awkward shit, and killed Jason. Yep, life was so fair. Golden boy got everything, Jason got a nice coffin.

But he came back and got shitty everything. And now he's getting the absolute worst.

He'd been nabbed somewhere between fourth and seventy fifth streets, which were actually a lot closer together than you'd think. Something slimy had wrapped around his waist, something cold slipped under his hood, next thing he knew he was strapped to something in a place that was darker than Bruce's outfit.

Every couple of minutes, there was this dark sort of chuckling, and a liquid dripping from the ceiling was melting his clothes off. Like. Literally. That was a thing that was happening to him.

The liquid didn't hurt him, but it left dark purple streaks on his skin, and made him close his eyes because of the spinning sensation it's scent caused. His shirt is mostly melted, and whatever leftover scraps had fallen to the floor anyways.

Except, of course, there was no floor, from what he could see. Either it was behind him or he was mounted on a rock- stalagmite? Stalactite? In the middle of a dark-as-fuck, hot-as-fuck cave. With no clothes. And maybe just the slightest hint of a hard on.

It's nothing specific thats making the blood rush to his dick, but he wishes it was. Atleast then he'd be able to write off the desire and pretend this wasn't *happening* to him.

His left boot finishes melting off when he hears a deep growl, much closer to him, specifically his right ear, and a clawed hand winds it's way into his hair and *yanks* to the side.

Long tongue dragging across his shoulder, neck, jaw, curling around to press into his mouth. It's thick and slimy and sort of gross, but not tasteless. It tastes clean, like rubber, but also like gunpowder, and ashes, and something that isn't dead yet.

The tongue draws out, whip-fast, and the grip tightens.

"Hood." It grunts. "I have you here for a *reason*."

"Heh, reason? Get in line, there's a lot of kids with reasons." Jason manages, tone still shaking.

"I was hired, by *someone*, to do what I do, to you."

"What do you do? Talk a lot?"

"Breed."

A pit finds its way into Jason's stomach. "Excuse me?"

"Breed. I am Nova the Breeder," the creature clambers around Jason on the pillar of stone-stalactite- and he sees that it is light green and blue, with bright yellow eyes. Something thick and *tangible* knocks against his thigh, but Jason doesn't look down at it.

"And I will breed you as I have bred those before you."

"Look, Nova, I'm sure we can strike a deal. What'd the other guy pay you?"

"Sixty two virgins and a blood oath. Stop talking."

A thick, leathery *something* is shoved in his mouth. A tail? Probably.

A spurt of liquid trails down the cusp of his ass, and something else- he *hopes* it's a tail- rubs it into the cleft, right around and over his hole.

A claw trails up and down his cock, making it fuller and more interested in the situation. Jason is interested too, but not appealed.

Except. The purple liquid is getting to his head again, he can't keep his eyes open can't think can't do anything can't move.

Something is pushed up into his ass. Whatever it is, it's ridged, and smooth and *wet* and moving out and in a bit, then again and. He can't think.

Another ridge draws a gasp out of him. His hips buck, his cock lifts, his ass swallows more of the object.

A low murmur in his ear, "Mine" and a firm push, two more ridges inside. Another murmur, "Call for me, I am Nova.", the rest of the ridges.

Jason trembles, he cannot move. His breathing is laboured, there are *so fucking many* ridges inside, he *can't*

"N-nova" he gasps, and the other moves. Quickly. No time to adjust, no time to breathe, only time to move and bob and moan and feel *full*.

He cannot think.

Numbers flash through his brain. Four, six, sixty, twelve, nine, *no*. His heart beats faster than his breaths pant. He needs this.

Yes, part of him thinks, through squeezed-shut lids and shuddering hips. He needs this.

Something speeds up, the only word he knows falls from his lips fast and breathy, his whole body arches into the stimulation.

Then there is a scream of pleasure. His? Maybe. Loud? Definitely. He feels filled, stretched around something impossible, and most of the sensation slides out, but most of it stays inside.

His cock, still bouncing against his navel, however, does not agree. It is not finished, and it needs *something* to release.

But nothing comes. Except for a new trail of liquid the dries on his dick in shapes, circlets and diamonds. It tightens.

He cannot climax, cannot think, cannot breathe.

He is still attached to the pillar, when did he lose his name? When did he lose time? When did the only thing in his mid become "Nova"?

Time passes. Much? He does not know. He knows that sometimes he is full, others in pain, others still empty and waiting. 

Then there is pain. Intense, ever present pain. He screams, cries, feels a clawed hand wrap around his weeping cock and pull a half-hearted climax from his exhausted body in an attempt to make the pain lessen.

Then he collapses. Time stops for a while, there is nothing and he is fine.

Then time continues. He is awake, he is in less pain, he is in an apartment and he is named Jason. His ass is sore and there is a man in the apartment.

"Jaybird?"

Jason blinks at him. His eyes switch between gold-black and almost blue.

"Where were you?"

"What's it to ya?" Jason echoes.

"We're worried."

"Stay worried. Ain't nothin' bout me to go braggin to Daddy bout, nothin that you fixed. I'm broken, I'm unwanted, I'm uninterested."

"You know that's not true."

"If I do, won't admit it to you. Out."

"Jay, you were gone for a *year*. We thought you died on us again."

"Doesn't matter where I was. I'm fine, I'm beautiful, I'm ready to fuck shit up."

"Sure?"

"Course. Get outta here, 'less you're gonna help."

Silence from the golden boy.

Good.

-


	4. Chapter 4

Like One Of Your French Girls

Jason *liked* being Red Arrow. Star city was cleaner than Gotham, it held nicer people with better motivations. It's underbelly was nowhere near as gritty as Gotham's. But, there was still always something to do. It was what Gotham could have been if Bruce was actually good at his job.

He's not too bad with the bow, either. After a month of using it, now he can be guaranteed a two-inch radius of where he aimed, and, that's *great*.

Jason has been patrolling for an hour or two tonight, sixty arrows in the quiver and a nice spot on top of a skyscraper to wait for the bad guys. He closes his eyes, and settles into his seat on the roof against the backings of a neon sign. He has an hour until they're meant to show up, and the night's been slow, that's plenty of time for a power nap, right?

Kyle was in Star for an (unplanned but probably expected) surprise visit to Connor or Roy, whoever he saw first. As he flies over the buildings looking for one of the arrow clan, he spots someone who looks like Roy cured up on a roof. It's probably Roy, they're wearing his Red Arrow costume, so. Kyle flies up, letting the wing-constructs he'd been using dissipate as he walked toward the prone figure. "Hey, Roy? Buddy? You ok?"

Jason startles from his sleep, slowly blinking sleep from his eyes. He looks around, and the giant neon billboard nearby says three a.m. He'd fallen asleep around twelve thirty. Jason curses, and leans back against the billboard, eying the green lantern. "What?" he calls.

"...You're not Roy. Who're you?" Kyle frowns, but doesn't create any constructs just yet. If this guy's a threat it won't take more than two seconds to make one, and being overly suspicious is bad manners.

"Currently, Red Arrow. Who're you, Green Giant?" He could pick the bow up and shoot the green lantern, but he waits.

"Green Giant? Excuse you, I am not the biggest Green Lantern, especially considering most of them are from different sectors, like have you *met* Guy Gardner? Or Killowog, for that matter. I am tiny."

"I have met them, but I'm tired and that was the only green comment I could think of." He yawns.

Kyle snorts. "I'm Kyle Rayner, public ID and all that. Also go by Ion" He offers a hand. "Since I gave you my name the least you could do is give me yours, that'd be the polite thing"

"Jason Todd, current Red Hood, former Red Robin, former Robin, former street brat." He takes Kyle's hand, and pulls himself up with it.

Kyle whistles. "Wow, I'd have never guessed. You're all the way from Gotham? Dang."

"Yeah. Been in Star a month on a bet from Roy. Just got the hang of his bow." he smiles. "Where you from? If you say Gotham, I'm gonna apologize for B's shit."

Kyle shakes his head. "I'm from Hollywood. I've been to Gotham, though. Went on a field trip back in highschool, plus I've had a few interesting team ups"

Jason nods. "Who with?"

"Conn, Dinah, I did a couple stints with Huntress, Donna and I've been through some stuff, and Jenny-Lynn, too..."

Jason nods again. "For a while me, Roy, and Kori had a thing. And me and Tim sorta? Not really? It didn't go anywhere. But. Couple weeks ago, me, Bart and Tim." He doesn't mention what kind of team up he did.

Kyle hums. "I've done a few things with Roy, and I'm part of the league now, officially. Hal still treats me like a newbie, even after everything, it's annoying" He wrinkles his nose, muttering.

Jason laughs. "I'm not in the league, I'm just the league's midnight booty call after its had a few shots."

Kyle snorts. "That used to be me, but then J'onn said that since I basically lived at the watchtower the least I could do was help out in the crisises, and they gave me a room. Plus, the gym up there? Fantastic. You would not believe the benefits of zero-g exercise"

"Oh, I believe it, I've seen Dick. Naked. Very naked. And that gym does wonders. He's tried to beg me to join, but at the same time, I'm not excited to change my moral standpoint for a gym."

Kyle grins a little. "You don't have to be part of the league to use the gym, especially if you've got friends in the ranks" He grins a little. "I used it before I joined, the place is great"

"Take me sometime, then, 'Ion'." Jason uses the name Kyle mentioned using earlier.

Kyle grinned. "Anytime, Little Red Riding Hood"

Jason grins. "Yeah, as long as there's no wolves around, kid. 'What big eyes you have,' is all it takes for me to bust a cap in a wolf's ass."

Kyle laughs. He can't help it, a were-wolf construct forms beside him. "Like him?"

Without missing a beat, Jason raises the bow and fires a bolt into the construct. He smirks as it dissipates. "Just like him."

Kyle laughs, snickering into his fingers. "I like you! You're way more fun than most of the other supers I meet, would you be opposed to hanging with me, today? I was gonna bother Conn, but he can wait"

"I was gonna bust some drug dealer, but he can wait. Well, he already did, my nap cost me my window. Nothin' else planned, let's hang." He offers Kyle a fist to bump.

Kyle bumps his fist. "Drug dealer, you say? Was he supposed to be doing anything over that-a-way? Cause I might have handled him"

Jason's smile turns to a grin. "And I'm officially free for the evening, we going to hang at someone's place or do dinner in some fancy restaurant, like Mickey D's? I could go for pizza right now, and I have enough points in my Papa John's account for a free pizza."

"Ooh, Pizza sounds de-vine, wow, I did not realize I was so hungry. It's been two weeks since I had greasy earth fast food, I am so game"

Jason gasped in horror, hand coming up to hide his face. "Two weeks? Fuck, man, c'mon, we need to get some shit in you. I got an apartment six blocks from here, come." he turns and starts walking to the edge of the building, glancing around for the best one go jump to from there.

Kyle lets his wings form again, flying low alongside Jason. He grins widely, as they go, he can't help it.

Jason notices Kyle flying, and gives him a look. "What, not gonna offer me a ride?" He asks, then unintentionally glances down. Sort of at Kyle, sort of at the ground.

Kyle grins. "You looked like you were handling yourself. If you want, I can give you a pair"

Jason hums. "Will I have any control over that shit?"

"Well they're constructs of my will, but I'll try to watch your clues and make them act as you'd want them to"

Jay nods. "Alright, just try not to run me into brick walls, my nose has been broken too many damn times."

Kyle grins. "I'll try" A pair of glowing green wings appear on Jason's back and they flap a bit, getting him off the ground. They aren't necessarily obeying the laws of physics or gravity, but who cares,

Jason whistles, and leans forwards a bit, implying that he wants to go forwards. He moves forwards, and he laughs.

Kyle grins, and does a loop-de-loop, cackling. 

Jason decides to work this through better later, and to brag to the bat back home whose never flown. He leans forwards again, aim refocused on that sixth story apartment.

Kyle follows along, letting Jason's body cues tell him where they're heading.

When he reaches the building, Jason hovers over the balcony for a second before he falls, hand bracing itself on the railing. He looks over at Kyle, a laugh on his lips. "That was great. Thanks."

Kyle grins, and lands with a soft thump. His wings shatter into bits of will. "Anytime"

Jason opens his sliding glass door and steps inside, leaving it wide open for the cool summer evening air, and for Kyle. His laptop is on the kitchen counter, across the room, so he goes to it and starts the process of ordering pizza. "Ay, whaddya want?"

"Anything so long as there's nothing healthy on it. All we had in space was rabbit food. And grilled cheese."

So Jason sets them up for a triple cheese and bacon pizza. "It'll be here in like, twenty minutes. What to do, what to do..." he reaches for the zipper on the Red Arrow top, and tugs it down. He removes it, bending and reaching for a t shirt. He is also acutely aware of his lack of undershirt, multitude of scars, and currently, red hair.

Kyle doesn't bat an eye at the scars or lack of shirt. The hair catches his attention. "I thought all the bat-brats were black haired?" He also takes that as a cue to get out of uniform, and does so, his day clothes and bag (with notebook and pencil pack) appearing in place of the fancy lantern uniform.

"I am the exception to the rule, dear lantern." Jason says. "But Robin is a concept, and Gotham cannot know we are mortal. When Dick moved on and I moved in, I was practically pretending to be him."

Kyle hums. "That makes sense. Never really thought about it. It's weird that all of you guys were so similar looking, now that I am. Does Batman have a type?"

"Yes. Under aged boys who look like him." He goes to the fridge for a beer, and tosses one to Kyle too. "He's sort of a pedophile, except it's not really sexual. He's got more issues than me, and I've *died*."

Kyle hummed softly. "Everybody's got issues. An this is coming from a guy who hosted Parallax"

"Bruce has more issues than normal people, Kyle. His test tube baby is a ten year old with green eyes and a perfect bitch face. But, no more talk of bats." He cracks open the beer and leans against the counter.  "Tell me about yourself."

Kyle hums. "I'm a freelance graphics artist, and I've wielded the green, yellow, blue, and white power rings. I've also dated Troia and Jade, and am best friends with Connor Hawke, alias undecided but was Green Arrow 2.0, and Roy Harper, a mutual friend of ours"

"Artist, you say? What do you normally draw? Or paint, whatever?"

"I draw, though I do paint and sculpt sometimes too" He shifts his bag's strap higher onto his shoulder. "I draw whatever catches my fancy"

Jason's eyes are drawn to the bag, and the pencil that pokes out. "Can you show me something?"

Kyle blinks, and opens the bag, digging through it a bit before producing a sketchbook. He flips a few pages, before showing a sketch of Donna in her Troia uniform, standing there with her hair billowing in the wind. There's also a little sketch in the corner of her proclaiming Roy is a big dumb nerd.

Jason smiles warmly. "Donna. Beautiful, though I've never tried. She just, doesn't seem real, almost? I feel like she's a force of nature, violent and graceful and perfect but. Not always there. Not predictable. Not that I really know her, but from what Roy says and what I've seen."

Kyle nods. "Sounds like her. She's beautiful and breathtaking to watch in action, but she's flighty and her rogues hit hard, sometimes even harder than mine."

"Do you draw Roy?" Jason would be lying if he said he didn't think about Roy a lot, would be lying if he said he didn't want to see Kyle's take on the other ginger.

Kyle grinned. "And Conn, too. I've done Hal a few times, but his hair annoys me." As he speaks, he flips the sketchbook around, and flips a few pages. "I don't remember what I have in... ah, that one."

Jason hums. "May I see?"

Kyle thought a moment, before shrugging and turning the page. It's of Roy, on his stomach on a bed, probably naked. He's got one hand propping up his chin, and the other is playing with the sheets.

Jason smiles, nodding. "It's good. Was that one he posed for, or from memory?"

"Memory. Haven't seen him shirtless in a while"

Jason whistles, and is about to comment, when the doorbell rings. He goes, gives the delivery girl a handsome tip, and brings the pizza to the coffee table in the middle of his livingroom-kitchen thing.

Kyle grins widely, at the pizza. "Earth food, how I've missed you..."

Jason snorts. "It's missed you too, Kyle." He grabs a piece, and takes a bite, moaning at the heat and the cheese and... Everything.

Kyle grabs one too, and can't stifle his own moan, either. It's been a long two weeks.

Jason smiles at him, and he finishes the first piece in silence. And the second. His apartment feels too hot, and he sorta wants to go lay on his balcony, but he doesn't. Jason reaches for a third slice, leaning against the back of the couch and closing his eyes, the end of the pizza in his mouth as he slowly nibbles on it, enjoying the way it heats up his mouth a bit more than the way it's grease drips down his long fingers.

Kyle grabs his second slice, savoring it, and sits down on the couch after a minute, just enjoying himself. As he eats, his mind(and eyes) wander to the other male, and he ends up studying Jason's jaw line. Kyle kinda wants to draw it.

Jason feels the weight of Kyle's gaze, and cracks an eye open to watch Kyle as he stares at him.

Kyle has finished his e, and is wiping his fingers on his pants, before grabbing his sketchbook and looking at Jay hopefully.

Jason nods, putting his feet on the coffee table and one hand under his head. He removes the pizza from his mouth to smirk. "Like one of your French girls, right?"

Kyle grinned. "I was gonna start with your face, but your boobs do look nice"

"Want me to strip for you? You only did see them once." His hand goes down to set the pizza on his couch cushion- Alfred would kill him if he was here- and he teases the hem of his t shirt up.

Kyle hums softly. "I wouldn't mind, but it's all up to you" He smiles, a little.

Jason pulls it off, and part of him wonders if he should start a list of all the members of JLA he's seduced, and a second of the ones he's had sex with. He wonders if Kyle will end up on that list. He wouldn't be against it, actually, the thought of Kyle under him, or on him, or on his knees, or above a Jason on *his* knees, it all sounds good. Kinda hot.

Kyle makes a happy noise, and starts sketching. He glances up at Jason every few seconds, tongue sticking out a bit in concentration.

Jason watches Kyle as he thinks, mind wandering. Would Kyle be interested? He might not be interested in guys, but he probably is. Everyone in JLA seems to be interested in everyone else. And he wonders what Kyle looks like sweaty and naked and shuddery. He thinks about what Kyle would look like in a Nightwing outfit, or one of the Robins. Red and underage. Maybe he'd look good as the Hood too, but he'd also look. Well, he'd be just like Jason, sort of. They have similar body types, except Jason is bulkier. A lifetime of street fights work just as many wonders as anti gravity, probably. Part of him starts thinking about how fucked up it is that his entire life has just been different acts of debauchery and twisted heroism, but he pushes away those thoughts in favor of admiring Kyle because, hey, he's there. Bruce isn't here to blame for all of Jason's issues, so he doesn't.

Kyle goes over another line, humming softly. He's rather proud of the drawing, it's of Jason lounging against the couch, shirtless(the scars are a bit vague, but it *is* his first attempt at Jason, he can be forgiven). Kyle hasn't gotten to his waist, yet, and hasn't decided if he'll just censor it or if he'll draw Jay's pants. He'll get there when he gets there.

"You're pretty intense," Jason starts, but ends up not finishing the train of thought. The pizza is now forgotten, and he could totally go for some GL booty, but he's also. Tired. And the look on Kyle's face, fuck, it's nice to be looked at like that. Sure, Kyle isn't focusing on *him*, but his body, but, Jason is just. Attention starved. Roy would call him thirsty. He admits, in his thought process, that he has issues but. Kyle's eyes feel nice. They look nice too.

Kyle looks up, pausing in his sketch. "Well, don't you deserve my full attention? I'm immortalizing you as you are right now, to my current ability"

Jason bites his lip, and yeah, that's kinda just the answer he needed. He wants to kiss Kyle. He's tired, and he'll think about what he did in the morning (which for him is late afternoon on a good day) tomorrow, today, whatever. He doesn't move though, just. Watches Kyle.

Kyle smiles a little, and adds a vague shape that might be a blanket around the waist of the figure, so he doesn't have to bother with drawing legs. Just a vague lump that could be legs.

Jason waits for Kyle to finish the piece, eyes half-lidded and bright. They always get bright when he's been awake too long, that was what Kori always told him before she made him go to sleep. They kinda hurt, but. Kyle.

Kyle smiled widely, and flipped the sketchbook, to show off his work. "Did I do alright?"

Jason nodded, smiling. "It's me." he says, because he's tired and that's the only thing coming to mind other than the song from the little mermaid about kissing, so he thinks 'fuck it' and leans forwards, just sorta. Going for it.

Kyle smiles, and blinks, when Jason moves forward. "Is everything alright?"

Jason kisses him. Not like he used to kiss Dick, with softness and confusion and need, not like how he kissed Roy or Kori, with understanding, with fear, with sorta-love but mostly friendship, not like how he kissed Bruce the one time, with anger and need and fear and pain and longing, not like how he kissed any of the other JLA members, but with chasteness. And. Well, there's gentleness, and there's need, but that's where it ends. It's a long kiss, but he doesn't move to make it deeper.

Kyle pauses, blinking a few times. Oh.

Jason moves away when he's done, eyes closed tight and mouth open a bit as he breathes. He doesn't say anything, he just. Waits.

Kyle blinks again, before grinning a little. "You know, all you had to do was ask"

"Why would I e'er do anythin that simple?" Jason asks, laughing, eyes opening a bit. They still hurt. "M tired. Are you?"

Kyle nods a little, stifling a yawn. "S'been a few... weeks... since I slept."

Jason stands, offering Kyle a hand. "There's a bed, and. We can do stuff in the morning, as long as morning doesn't come before twelve tomorrow. Today. Whatever."

Kyle nods. "That sounds fantastic" He stands up, dropping his bag and sketchbook on the couch.

Jason leads him across the room to a slightly open door, and pushes it open to reveal the dark room. All it actually has in it is the bed, because it's not entirely a room, but he strips the rest of the way at the entrance, and crosses the room in two steps before crawling into the bed, under the covers, and waiting for Kyle.

Kyle thinks a moment before stripping down to his boxers(mostly because going naked would be weird, after so long wearing the suit) and follows Jay, cuddling up against him because that was also something he missed while being in space. Cuddling.

Jason likes the cuddling, likes the warmth of another person being around as much of him as he can manage. Sex isn't as nice as this, but that's because he's a romantic at heart, and an attention starved, gun crazy, slightly sexually confused, romantic at that. He slips into sleep without a second thought.

Kyle is out within minutes, muttering under his breath.

"Not the bedazzler!"

-

Stained glass jewelry idea

-pendants: batman, nightwing, robin, superman, spiderman, deadpool, xmen, avengers, wonder woman, flash, green lantern

-earrings: batman, nightwing, robin, spiderman, deadpool, avengers, superman

-rings: captain america, lanterns, deadpool, xmen, avengers

-keychains: batman, robin, superman, captain america, avengers

Proposed prices: ten for earrings, fifteen for pendants, twelve for keychains, twenty for rings

Deals: twenty for a pendant/earring set, twenty five for an earring/ring set, thirty for a pendant/ring set, forty for an earring/ring/pendant set, buy one ((pendant/ring/earring set)) get the second for half price, trades of something equal value are accepted as well, if I'm interested

For the lantern rings: include a card about the color lantern, including the chant and one or two examples of the lanterns that used those rings. 

Additional thing: for everything, they get a business card about me that contains a disclaimer, and an artist trading card. I could sell art prints too.

-

 

Dick/Bruce

Nightwing was in Gotham because he'd been visiting Oracle(just because she didn't like him anymore doesn't mean he cant drop by and say hi) when he noticed Batman fighting some thugs. Hey, why not stop and help B while he's here? Maybe the old coot will actually treat him like an adult this time. So he swings down, making sure to hit the thug so he can slam him into the ground and knock him out. "Hey! Nobody told me we were having a party"

It had been months since Bruce actually talked to Dick, and weeks since he'd seen him, so he isn't prepared to see him swing down, all muscle and black Kevlar and *blue finger stripes*, and Bruce stares because damn, the form is impeccable and the ass is just a black hole, sucking him in. Unfortunately, the thug he'd been fighting takes this moment to throw a right hook to his jaw. He takes a moment to recover, then drives a boot to the man's pelvis, and an elbow to his chin. The thug falls down, and Bruce looks back at Dick, at Nightwing. "What are you doing here?"

"Wow, B. Your age finally catching up to you?" Dick snickers. "That guy almost had you"

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Because you distracted me. What are you doing in Gotham? I thought you went to Blüdhaven, Chicago, somewhere."

"Stopped by to check on Oracle. Saw you were having a party, thought I'd crash it. Do... do you not want to see me?"

It's far from the truth, but Bruce doesn't say that. He doesn't say anything even remotely close to that, he avoids the question. "I was managing the thugs."

"...Br-Batman. If you think a deflection like that would work, you really must be getting senile. Fine, I was on my way home anyway."

"Have you seen Alfred recently?" He says, too quickly. "He'll be at the bat cave."

Dick blinks, and smiles. "I haven't seen Alfie in forever, does he still make those brownies?"

Bruce tried to keep from smiling as he nodded. "Tim likes them almost as much as Alfred likes Tim."

"Tim? Short little kid, 'bout yay high?" Dick motions to a spot about hip level. "Takes lots of pictures, might have stalker tendencies? That Tim?"

"You brought him to me, don't you remember?"

"You actually kept him around? He lives at the manor, then?"

"One parent dead, and the other in a coma, and I adopted him, where else would I put him?"

"You adopted him? He's not just a ward?"

"I would have adopted you, but you didn't. Need it." And that road Dick had taken, it really had made all the difference. If Dick had been his son, or like a son, he wouldn't be staring at his ass in the middle of a fight.

Dick blinked. And then he smiled a little. "...Yeah, I guess. So, brownies?"

Bruce nodded, swallowing his emotions. "Riding with me?"

"Well, I've only got my grappling hook, and I *do* miss the batmobile..."

"Let's see if you still fit." Bruce clicked a button somewhere on his belt , and the batmobile swung into view.

Dick snorted. "I'm nowhere as big as you, mister 'I never stop growing even though I'm like thirty'"

"Keep believing I'm thirty and I'll keep growing." He shoots back, slipping easily into the front seat.

"You're right, you're like, 50, now"

"And you've overshot, don't push your luck."

Dick snickered, sliding into the passenger seat easily. "Did you get an upgrade? I don't remember it being this high-tech"

"Lots of things upgraded." He says absentmindedly, only recognizing the innuendo after he's said it and shut the top. Silently cursing, he starts the batmobile on a course to the batcave.

Dick glances over, eyebrows rising. "Lots of things? Which ones~?"

"I am the night, I'm not playing this game with you Richard."

Dick pouts. "When we're in masks we don't use names, *Batman*"

He froze. Shit. "Fine, *Nightwing* I'm not playing that game. I don't need to tell you which upgrades I've gotten, you need to see them all for yourself."

Dick rolls his eyes behind the mask, huffing softly. "You get so defensive whenever I talk, I don't think I even want to know anymore."

Bruce winces. He wasn't intending to push Dick away, the only reason Dick is still here is because of Alfred and brownies. Then again, it was his fault Dick left in the first place-

They pull into the cave, and Bruce gets out of the car before removing his cowl, cape, shoes, and, as a last decision, shirt/top thing. It's replaced with a towel for the eye makeup he started using after an interesting night of drinking with Green Arrow.

Dick watches him, but doesn't say anything. He peels the mask off, and gets all of two steps in before he notices the tiny kid with a big, expensive camera.

Bruce glances at Tim, and smiles, patting his head. "You were right about the thugs."

Tim blinks up at him. "Aren't I always right about the thugs?"

Dick snorts.

Bruce nods, taking a cup of tea from Alfred. "You haven't been wrong."

Dick smiles softly, and stoops down to look Tim in the eyes. "Hey, kid. How ya doing?"

"I've been better. Are you here to stay, now?"

Bruce goes to sit down, but he still listens for Dick's answer. If Dick says yes, he tells himself, he'll tell him. Not everything, but part of it.

Dick is sitting there, frozen, and Tim is looking up at him all hopeful but... But Bruce is still a little bitch who can't treat him like an equal he can't say yes either. Fuck.

"I... I'm not sure, Timmy. Maybe when B and I can hold a conversation without him forcing it into a verbal smack down, I'll stay for good"

Bruce downs half the tea, the burn of the liquid chilly compared to Dick's words.

Tim frowns. "It's not all his fault."  
"No, but he started it"

Bruce wants to protest, but he doesn't. Can't. Just sits and tries to ignore them while listening attentively to everything they say.

Dick smiles then. "So, Timmy. How are things? School?"

"Good. You and Bruce should talk."

"I will when he gets off his butt and talks to me like an *equal*"

And the day Bruce would do that is when he stopped being in tortured denial over his feelings. Joy.

Tim huffs. Dick gets up. Alfred appears again, holding a tray of snacks; scones, cookies, and brownies. Dick grins widely. "You're the best, Alfie!"

Bruce finishes his tea and stands, offering Alfred his cup in exchange for a brownie. "I'll go to bed, Dick, you're welcome to stay the night and leave in the morning. Tim, you have school tomorrow."

Tim huffs again, accepting a blueberry scone and heading upstairs to go to bed. Dick grabs a brownie, and presses a kiss to Tim's hair before walking with him upstairs.

Bruce watches him, and presses his hand to his head, sighing. "What did I do wrong, Alfred? Besides the obvious, please?"

"He feels that you treat him like a child, even though he feels he is your equal. He wants to be treated as the person he has grown up to be, not a child you still have to raise."

"Do you think that is the effect I give off?"

"He interprets your constant attempts at deflecting his attention from your crush, not that he is aware of it, as you treating him like he's not good enough to... know everything, that he is not good, or old enough, to be your equal. And that bothers him."

"If only he knew the issue was my wanting him to be my equal, right?" Bruce sighs heavily and takes a bite of the brownie. "What do you suggest I do, old friend?"

"Tell him."

"Is it that simple?"

"It will, at the very least, shed some light on what the problem is. I suspect he will react in a way you haven't anticipated"

"So he won't attack me with the closest object? Good to know,"

"That seems unlikely. But be prepared for it, just in case, sir. He does lash out when startled"

Bruce nods, taking another bite of the brownie. "Sleep well, Alfred, I anticipate no matter what happens tomorrow, I'll be needing alcohol in copious amounts at awful hours."

Alfred hums. "Good luck, Master Bruce."

He pats Alfred's shoulder and starts for the stairs, intending on going to bed.

Dick has tucked Tim in, and has just finished his brownie. He'd unzipped the Nightwing top, pulling it down around his waist. He's got a T-shirt on with the words 'Suck my Richard' and a heart printed on the front. "Hi, Bruce"

Bruce blinks in surprise, then snorts at the shirt, closing his eyes to try and regain his composure. "Where did you get that shirt?" He asks, trying not to laugh, or even giggle.

"Got it as a present from my partner at work. She thought it fit me"

A sting of ungrounded jealousy arises, but Bruce stifles it. "It fits you well."

Dick smiles. "She doesn't let me wear it around her kids, but she says so, too"

Kids, that's reassuring. "You haven't changed in all these years, you know. Except, you have. You're still the ten year old who insisted on wearing scaly panties as you swung through Gotham's filthy air, but you're different too. More mature. Strong." He says on impulse, feeling like he should have had a cup of wine first.

Dick looks up at him, startled. "Wha- what brought that on? Are you dying??"

He shook his head. "Alfred gave me advice. Can we continue this conversation in my office? I only suggest that room because it has the best wine."

Dick blinks a couple more times. "Are you sure you're not dying? Am I dying? Is the world ending?"

"The world isn't ending, but if you keep expecting it to it will."

"You're acting funny I'm worried."

Bruce took a deep breath and turned, walking towards his office anyways. Whether Dick followed or not, he'd need that wine.

Dick followed cautiously, eyebrows furrowed. Somewhere along the way he started fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Bruce got inside and found an open bottle and two glasses, courtesy of Alfred, no doubt. "Have a drink with me." he says as he pours a generous amount into one glass, and straight up fills the other to the top. He's going to need it.

Dick blinks. He doesn't drink much, honestly, but.. Bruce is offering, and there aren't many times he can say no to Bruce. He takes the less full glass, sipping a little. He wrinkles his nose, at the taste.

Bruce downs more than a sip, then goes to sit in the chair that saw him more often than his bed. "Before I go on, do you have anyone in your life that would be upset with me for giving you wine in the middle of the night?"

"...No? Uh... Like, I'm off until the day after tomorrow, and Babs doesn't care...?"

Bruce gave an exaggerated sigh. "No, not like that, no workplace cares. A relationship."

"Oh. No. Wally's engaged, Roy's got a kid, Babs kicked me out. I'm as single as you always are"

Bruce nodded. "Okay. I. I." He takes another gulp of wine, the dull burn more comforting than his own way with words. "I am not good enough at words. Alfred gave me advice, and I am trying, but it's not simple." He swirls the contents of his glass, staring into their depths.

Dick blinks. He tilts his head, frowning. "What'd he tell you to do?"

"Tell you the truth."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "What truth?"

"Why I avoid your questions. Why I am not so forthcoming about things, why I avoid teaming up with you."

Dick's eyes narrow further, and takes a sip of his wine. "I think I've got a pretty good idea about that."

"You think you understand, just like I think I understand the Joker. Just like I thought this conversation would go." he takes another long gulp, tipping his head back.

Dick pauses at that. "What. What does that mean?"

Bruce smiles, almost bitterly. "I mentioned you changed, didn't I? You became a teenager, then a young adult, then a handsome man, all under my nose, when I was still fighting thugs under broken street lights. I haven't changed, I haven't upgraded or adapted, I stuck to what I knew, and what I knew best was avoidance. How many years now have I been avoiding this conversation, I can't remember."

Dick blinks. Handsome...? Bruce thought he was... What? But... but...

Bruce downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass, and refilled it. "Gears turning up there, have they come to the conclusion yet? Will they reach it before the end of this bottle? I warn you, I might not be patient enough for that."

"I. I. What? I."

"What? Must I spell it out for you?" he takes another gulp of his wine.

Dick put his glass down, and put his hand on his mouth. "You. You actually think I'm. I."

Bruce's eyebrows went up. "Fixating on that? Not the big picture?" he snorts. "I really do have to spell it out for you, don't I."

"Big. Big picture?" His voice comes out a tiny squeak.

Another huge gulp of alcohol before Bruce leans forwards, pointing at Dick's shirt. "I want to 'suck the Richard'. I want to 'suck the Richard' right out you, until you don't know what to scream. I want to wake up next to you every damn morning and I want to eat breakfast with you and I want you to help me raise Tim and help him in the ways I couldn't help you, or Jason, and I want to fight with you, and every night I want to go to bed with you. And I want to kiss you. And I want to talk to you, and I don't want to go through a bottle of wine to do it. I want you to know that we are equals, always have been."

Dick gasps, looking at him with wide eyes. "B-bruce... You really...? I..."

Bruce leans back and takes another sip of wine, closing his eyes. "Yes. If you reject me, do it quickly."

"R-reject you? I've debated asking you to marry me since I was 8...!" He claps his hands to his mouth, blushing brightly.

Bruce opened his eyes in confusion. "What?"

Dick doesn't move his hands, and his eyes are closed tightly. Shit. He wasn't supposed to say that.

Bruce bites his lip to keep from smiling. "Eight?"

Dick's ears burn red. He refuses to open his eyes.

Bruce gets up and leans on the desk in front of Dick. "Look at me."

Dick does, eyes opening slowly. He doesn't move his hands, though.

"Stand." Bruce halfway wants to keep him there, sitting, but he also knows that this is something he's needed to do for a long time.

Dick stands up, looking at Bruce in confusion. He still hasn't moved his hands.

Bruce wraps his hands around Dick's wrists, and pulls them away before leaning in for a kiss.

Dick gasps, and his eyes flutter closed. He pulls his wrists free, and drapes his arms around Bruce's shoulders.

Bruce's hands slide down Dick's sides to rest on his hips, then he slides his right hand down further and squeezes a handful of the booty.

Dick gasps into the kiss, back arching into Bruce a little.

Bruce broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against Dick's. "One last confession out of me. I was punched by the thug because I was distracted by your ass."

Dick blushes a little, looking at Bruce through his lashes. "R-really?"

Bruce nods, and leans in to give Dick another, deeper kiss.

Dick opens his mouth, eyes fluttering closed. This was better than anything he'd expected to happen, really.

After a few breathless minutes, Bruce rolls his hips forwards and breaks the kiss. "Is it too soon to ask to come to my room?"

"A-ah... Bruce... You d-do realize how long I've been waiting for this, r-right?"

Bruce kisses him again, and taps Dick's legs. "Up."

Dick does, wrapping his legs around Bruce's waist. He clings a little, arching his back a bit to get a good position.

Bruce kisses Dick's neck and puts his hands under his legs, keeping him up. He knows the way to his room by heart, and just how to open his door without hands. Once inside, he drops Dick on the bed, pulling his pants off. He kneels in front of Dick, hand coming up to fist his shirt. "Should I suck your Richard?"

Dick blushes, gasping a little. "I-if I can suck yours, after"

"If you're flexible to suck *my*," he squeezes Dick's bulge with one hand. "Richard, you certainly can."

Dick gasps, and smirks a little. "I'm as flexible as always, B. I've done a few... interesting things... while I was off with the Titans, and in Bludhaven..."

Bruce grins. "I've done interesting things too. Let's see if they're enough for a little bird." He leans down and presses a kiss to Dick's bulge, before working the zipper down and tugging the rest of his costume down.

Dick gasps, flushing a little more. He's already hard, and suddenly feels vulnerable, with Bruce looking at him like this.

Bruce mouths at the bulge in his underwear, breath hot on it. "No cup? You're a brave man."

Dick grins a little. "I-I didn't plan on fighting, tonight..."

"Was it because I was there, that you did?"

"Y-yes..."

"Do you still come when I call?"

"Al-always B. That never changed"

Bruce sucked on his bulge, eyes staring up at Dick. "Then we'll see if you will even when it's a different sort of coming."

"A-ahh, Bruce..."

Bruce pulls it out before pressing a kiss to the crown, then sucking the head into his mouth.

Dick moans, hand coming up to muffle the sound.

Bruce moves his head down, taking the rest of Dick's member into his mouth, sucking and scraping his teeth as he went.

Dick moans, forcing himself to keep still. He keeps his hand pressed to his mouth, the other tangled in the sheets.

Bruce pulls off, staring at Dick. "If I didn't want you to move, I'd have told you. I want you to. I want you to move and cry out and moan."

"B-but... Timmy might hear..."

"Tim is a sixty feet in the opposite direction I want you to come, and every wall inbetween is soundproofed beyond belief."

Dick blushes, biting his lip. "A-are you sure?"

Bruce nodded, and smiled.  "Now, I won't stop until I feel you pull me off." He goes back down, lips wrapping tightly around the slick length of Dick's as he swallows it down.

"A-ah! Bruce!" His hand comes up again, but hovers around his mouth. He's never not tried to keep quiet before.

Bruce hums around Dick's cock, making sure the vibrations are strong enough to be tangible.

"A-ahh! Nngh.." Dick's head lolls back, eyes fluttering closed. His hips twitch a little, but he tried to keep them still.

Bruce sucks harder, wanting Dick's back to arch and hips to thrust. He goes down further, teeth scraping along his length.

Dick moans loudly, hips twitching again. His hands tangle in the sheets again.

Bruce groans, the sound resonating through Dick's cock again.

Dick whines, hips jerking a little. His back arches slightly, as well.

Bruce grins, swallowing every inch that he was met with and following it down, then moving back up and then down again.

"Br-Bruce...!" He moans, back arching again.

Bruce winced at the feeling in his jaw, and sucked harder, wanting to get Dick satisfied before his jaw grew too tired.

Dick's back arched again, and with a strangled cry he was coming.

Bruce kept sucking, letting it all go straight down his throat.

Dick panted, flushed. That was one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had.

Bruce kept his lips around Dick for a few seconds more before pulling up slowly, coming up to kiss Dick with swollen lips.

Dick kissed him back, tangling his hands in Bruce's hair.

Bruce pushed him back on the bed, eyes half lidded from lust and tiredness. "What now?" he purrs, coming to straddle Dick's thighs and kiss his cheeks.

Dick smiles, and moves suddenly, so their positions are switched. "I'm returning the favor. I don't have a gag reflex anymore"

Bruce groaned at the idea, biting his bottom lip. "Go ahead."

Dick smiled, and pulls Bruce's boxers down, eyes going half lidded as he exposes Bruce's dick. He licks along the shaft, eyes closing.

Bruce groans, hips shifting closer to Dick, farther down on the bed.

Dick smiles, and takes all of Bruce into his mouth at once, taking a good portion down his throat as well.

Bruce sucks in a huge breath, back arching up, and his hips jerk up because *fuck*

Dick just swallows around him, one hand cupping Bruce's balls.

Bruce makes a strangled half-yell, because he can't think of anything to yell with Dick on him.

Dick hums, and pulls up, scraping his teeth along the length as he does.

Bruce's hips jerk up three times before he climaxes, embarrassingly quick.

Dick swallows most of it, a bit trickling out the corner of his mouth. He licks his lips, smirking a little.

Bruce groans, reaching down to pull Dick up by his shirt and kiss him hard.

Dick kisses back, moving so he's in Bruce's lap.

Bruce pulls back from the kiss, closing his eyes. "Stay with me?"

Dick smiles. "I do have obligations in Bludhaven... but I can stay until Monday..."

Bruce smiles and kisses Dick again. "What day is today?"

"Saturday."

"So I have one day, and I lied to Tim about school today? Perfect, we'll be able to do anything. But for now, sleep."

Dick smiled, and leaned into Bruce. "I love you."

Bruce froze, and leaned his head into Dick. "I. I. I."

"I know you do, too. Shh"

Bruce made a noise, and tipped them over so their heads landed on the pillows. He threw the blankets over them as well, after working them out from under them.

-

Love hurt bleed- Gary numan  
Mustang kids- zerry day  
Pop that bubble- douster  
Express yourself- diplo

Party man ((the song from batman))

Carlo Rossi table wine  
Blush, paisano, chablis, sangria, burgandy

Misery maroon 5

Sweet tea with lemon slices, strawberry slices, and mint

3005- childish gambino  
Long stretch of love- lady antebellum

All the music from Lucy 

Kadin

-

Trouble

There's a loud beep of the answering machine. "----- Hello? Jason, yes, this is me. Your mother. Sheila Haywood. I know you have every right to not want contact with me, but I've changed a lot. I got a job, I got a stable job. I want us to talk. I want to know you, Jason. I never took the chance before, I never knew it was an option, and I want that to change. Please, pick up, or call me back? My shift starts in ten minutes but, I'm here. Text me. I love you."

_I love you._

Jason buries his head in a throw pillow. The machine beeps loudly again, then alerts him that he has no other new messages. When he'd heard her say her name, he'd backed up until his back hit the foyer's wall opposite the house phone, sliding down and sitting on the ground. Breath is hard for him, and his eyes burn with tears that aren't coming.

_I love you._

He can't help but remember what happened all those years ago. How she just let the Joker take him, let the Joker beat him unconscious and blow him up. She didn't care what happened to him then, why the sudden interest? Why the sudden contact, sudden calls and gushing messages?

This isn't the first. Three times before this one, she had called. Begged for forgiveness. Used things like "I had no choice", "I can't imagine life without knowing you", and vehement promises that she's clean now. No drugs, no dirty medical practices. Nothing shady. 

He wants to believe her. Fuck, he wants it so much. He's changed since then, changed since he died. There's a chance she had too, a chance she isn't as awful as he says she is when he has to talk about his past to Dinah. 

Tears sting his cheeks. 

_I love you._

Roy opens the door who knows how long later. Jason is still barely crying, gasping for breath around a cigarette that one violently shaking hand is trying to light. 

"Fuck- Jason, babe, stop." Roy takes the light, the cigarette. "Tell me what's wrong."

"She. She called again." Jason crushes his face into Roy's coat, a pair of strong arms, similar to his own, wrapping around his shoulders. 

"Your mom? Jason, it's fine. Block her number. She doesn't deserve you, okay? You're safe."

"I know I'm safe." Jason pulls back. "S not the problem. I don't know what to do."

Roy blinks. "You- you can't be serious. Jason."

"I am. I want to know her. Always have, Roy."

"She's the reason you died. She doesn't deserve to know you."

"Roy," Jason closes his eyes. "I died because I didn't listen to Bruce."

"Don't you dare do that to yourself, Jason."

"It's true."

"You wanted to connect with your mom. That's okay. She destroyed any chance you would have given her, she _betrayed_ your trust."

"Roy, you don't understand. If you had this chance-"

"That's different. If I had a chance to connect with my mother, she'd have three chances. Three strikes and she's out."

"Mine only had _one_."

"You _died_ , that's a hundred strikes. An out. She's arrested and never allowed into a game again."

"That's not your _decision_ Roy."

"My decision is to protect you, Jason. Don't do this to yourself."

"I'm fine."

"You were sobbing into a cigarette. That's not fine."

"Roy-" Jason narrows his eyes. 

"No. You know I'm right."

Jason closes his eyes. "Fine." he lies, as if deciding not to see his mother is that simple.

"Jason, you need to call me back. I love you."

_I love you_

"Jason?" Kori asks. "Something up?"

"No."

She doesn't look like she believes him. He doesn't believe him. She opens her arms and he crosses the room to crawl into them. 

"Talk to me?"

"Already did. It's the mom thing."

"Oh. I'm not used to this, but, I don't think you should

-

Roy stands in front of the glass case containing the Arrow's costume mannequin, biting his lip. He doesn't know why he's still here, why he's waiting for. For _fucking Oliver Queen_ with a blonde he doesn't want to talk to. There's also the Queen family's bodyguard, the one who seems to stay on orbit around Oliver as if-- as if he's the fucking _sun_. Roy shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

He was more than surprised when it turned out that the Arrow was _Oliver_. It made a lot of things make sense, like his conflicting opinions and the way he seemed to _speak for_ the vigilante, but it also made some things hurt. Like, for instance, the way the Arrow had turned him down, yelled at him, _shot him with a damn arrow_. Oliver was the one who had saved him, but he'd also condemned him. Made him hurt, ache, bleed, scream.

"Roy. You okay?" The blonde calls. Roy wishes he could remember her name.

"What do you think?" He mutters.

"I get it. You just found out Arrow is as much a saint as, well, Oliver is a saint. I swear, he's a good guy. The lying just kind of came with the package. And, if we all had a dime for every time he said 'On the island' we'd have enough money to buy like, three islands." She jokes.

Roy hums. He wants to laugh, but he's not in the mood.

"Oh, please don't tell me you brood too, we get enough of that between Oliver, Oliver, and John." She groans.

He blinks. There's a noise across the room, and Roy turns.

There he is. Oliver. Arrow. Roy sucks in a breath, and doesn't move. The blonde gets up to go talk to Oliver about, about _something_ , and the bodyguard, John, helps Oliver suit down. After the two minutes it takes for Oliver to change into a gray shirt and sweats, he comes to stand in front of Roy.

Roy has to-- he has to look _up_ at Oliver, and it feels weird.

"Roy Harper."

"Oliver Queen."

"You're in front of the case."

"I am."

Oliver holds up the bundle of green leather. "I need to put this in the case."

Roy glances behind him, then at the leather. "Ah." He keeps staring at Oliver.

"Are you _challenging_ me, Roy Harper?" Oliver smirks.

Roy's eyebrow goes up. "Do I seem like I'm issuing a challenge to you?"

"You have this whole alpha-male vibe at the moment, Roy Harper."

"You can call me by just my first name, you do it around Thea all the time."

Oliver grins at Roy's bitch face. "Yes, but we're not around Thea. You'll need to work before I call you just one."

"I _have_ worked." Roy protests. "You shot me. In the leg. With a damn arrow. And you made me slap water about a million fucking times."

"Yes, and now you're stronger."

"I don't need to be stronger." Roy's eyes narrow. "Do you want me to break something to prove it?"

"It taught you control."

"I'm still pissed off." Roy's eyebrows go up. "What else was it supposed to teach me? Douche 101?"

The blonde snorts in the background.

"Not now, Felicity."

Oh, so that was her name. Okay.

"You have to admit that was funny, Ollie."

"I did not deny it, Felicity."

Roy blinks. "Is this a joke to you? A game?"

"Anything but, Roy."

-

Oliver steps forwards so his body is flush with Roy's. "I am beyond serious about this."

Roy bites his lip and steps back. Oliver matches him, keeping contact. 

"Man , chill." Roy breathes the words out, the mannequin trembling behind him. 

Across the room, Felicity stands. "Okay, this is either gonna go _Fight Club_ or bad porno, Dig, help me out here, which is more likely?"

John snorts. "Does it have to just be one?"

Roy looks back at Oliver. Oliver looks at Roy. 

-

_Regret_

Luke hadn't expected to regret this. Hadn't expected to regret stealing the bolt or expected to feel guilty for the fate placed upon the boy with a head of black hair and a pair of- the term in mind is sea green- eyes. A _twelve year old_ kid who looked at him like he was the anchor holding him to this earth, like he was the last hope. 

It hurt, especially knowing how this would end. Percy, he wouldn't find the bolt. Zeus would find him, Zeus would _kill_ him, and Zeus would wage war with Poseidon. 

And it would all be so easy. 

-


End file.
